The Sea Enchants Me (or maybe it's just you)
by Enterpraise
Summary: <html><head></head>Mermaid AU where Thorin is the Sea King Under The Mountain and Bilbo is still Bilbo but with a penchant for fishing. (Based off of a tumblr comic)</html>
1. Chapter 1

_**Chapter One: Allergic To**_** _Fish_**

Bilbo Baggins, the perfectly respectable hobbit of Bag End, had a pastime: fishing. Reasonable and non-risky it was, so there was no huffs and puffs of disapproval anywhere to be found other than in his dastardly cousin, Lobelia. Bilbo enjoyed fishing as did, surprisingly, his father, which was whom he garnered his skills from.

From the tender bobbing and the rippling waves, Bilbo found solace, an inner peace away from the confines of the Shire, in sitting on a smooth hewn rock, basking in the sun with comfortable, economical tan trousers that reached his upper calves and a loose shirt with suspenders he only dared to don in his secret spot of serenity. Earlier in the morn, quickly and fastidiously, Bilbo had gathered his tackle box, a small woven basket full of meat pies and cut strawberries, water, and his old reliable wooden fishing pole: Delilah.

He made this way through the interwoven twists and turns of the Shire and quickly walked towards Brandywine Channel, which was connected with the ocean some five kilometers out. It made for good game and plump, delectable fish and nothing could make Bilbo happier than a fish fried just right (with a little hint of lemon juice of course.) And with the ocean being so close, the salty, sweet breeze occasionally wafted into the streets of the Shire, always welcome and quite the soother.

It took him no less than thirty, but no more than forty, minutes to get to his fishing perch. Long and tiring the walk was, but Bilbo only made it twice a week so it was more refreshing and relaxing than anything. Reaching the channel-side, Bilbo sharply pinpointed his dear rock and plopped down with a winded sigh. Placing his belongings near and his water canister even closer, Bilbo calmly set to getting his pole ready, straightening out the line and hooking the bait, slimy worms he had picked up on the way, on the hook.

Casting the line and quickly whirling it to adjust it, Bilbo watched entrancedly as the line shimmered in the sunlight and swayed with the sea's breeze only to fall flat, like a medley that had halted suddenly.

That was how he stayed for a good number of hours; the straw sun hat he wore not doing a very good job at keeping his face from the sometimes-harmful sunlight, his legs crossed lazily as a small smile tugging at his lips ceased to fade.

It wasn't until the sun began to lay down for a nights rest, the sky's colored splendid oranges, yellows, and reds, that Bilbo decided that it was probably the best if he began walking back to Bag End for it was not safe to be walking in the woods alone at night (if the stories passed around the taverns were true.) With a sigh, he resolved to throw one last line, just for kicks, and could only hope to catch another sea bass. Breathing inwards softly to compose himself, Bilbo cast the line and listened to the sweet song it made against the wind. He knew such a harmony lasted only seconds but when it continued, not quite the same for the new song was stronger and ever more intoxicating than the last, Bilbo's eyes darted around the coastline for the culprit making such fine music.

There, on another lone rock almost parallel to Bilbo's own. It was a smaller rock and was half underwater but that was not what caught Bilbo off guard. Occupying said rock was a maiden with the dark, thick long hair that was decorated with beautiful pearls, gems, and an eerily glowing seashell on the right side of her head. Her hair was so long in length in fact, that a good third of it waded silently in the water behind her. The full mane of hair obscured his vision but it did not hide the powerful royal blue tail with two fins at the end that branched off into dangerous twin points.

Stunningly beautiful was she and Bilbo could not bring himself to stop staring.

Bilbo paused in his thoughts, trying to comprehend this madness and to figure out how he had completely missed such a welcome addition to his party. Delilah threatened to slip from his hands and all he could do was stare, his eyes boring into the mermaid in disbelief and awe.

Suddenly, as if the beautiful maiden felt him staring, she whipped around and Bilbo almost choked on his spit. That most definitely _not_ a woman and Bilbo felt his cheeks heat up like ovens as the mer_man_ returned his stare with even more power and terror.

"What the fuck are you staring at?" He growled and Bilbo nearly jumped and ran for his voice was the polar opposite of a gentle maiden's; Low and rich, smooth as sand, but equally ensnaring, as a siren's own.

His mind catching up to his mouth, Bilbo stuttered and his eyes landed on the harp in the merman's hand. "You-you..." He began only to falter and the merman glared at him with something fierce and fiery as if to say _'spit it out!_'

"You are no lady." Bilbo gulped, sounding betrayed and terrified. "And you have a tail." He continued rambling, his grip on Delilah tightening as she precariously dangled from his fingertips.

The merman sneered nastily at him and bore what Bilbo thought were the frostiest eyes he'd ever been privy to. "I also have a harp, if you and your superior skills of observation did not notice." He said condescendingly, face stormy and handsomely unpleasant.

Startling at the hostility aimed at him, Bilbo stiffened in offense and set Delilah down with a soft clank. "Now listen here, Master Merman," He snapped, his hands finding their way to his hips in annoyance. "I am sorry I confused you for a lass but your hair can lead to wrong conceptions, if I must say! There is no need to be so very rude and manner-less!"

The merman's sneer turned into bared teeth, pearly white and straight, but with deadly canines that made Bilbo inch further from the water in fear. "You dare speak to me in such a way, halfling?" He snarled as his harp disappeared underwater as he released it; his muscular tail swishing violently. Bilbo all but scurried to grab his things because that was no benevolent sea creature. That merman was a vicious predator.

"Oh do please calm down," Bilbo spoke softly, as if trying to placate the angered merman. "I did not mean to instigate anything between us."

The merman twisted his body around to slam his two hands on the edge of the rock. Bilbo watched with rapt attention, much to his horror, as the merman's thick, muscle layered arms reflexed and undulated with every movement. With the new view presented to him, Bilbo couldn't even begin to believe that he had thought the merman to be a maid. How embarrassingly wrong and just plain embarrassing in general! No lass had that much hair on their body, especially as dense as the merman's was, and no lass was so broad.

"Oh, but you did." The merman crooned and Bilbo felt his face pale. "You insulted my honor by claiming me as a woman."

"I did not _claim_ anybody, Master Merman!" He defended, aghast and flustered; his voice was rising to an improper degree and his cheeks could quite possibly fry an egg. To think he would be teased and tormented by a merman. The ridiculousness of it all! His father would have been thoroughly disturbed and his mother thoroughly amused. "And I certainly did not mean to insult your hair. As I said before, it is very misleading!"

The merman leaned forward as if ready to pounce, for he was not a long ways out, and Bilbo grabbed his hat and stood up speedily, Delilah clutched in his small fist and water bottle by his foot. "Misleading and gorgeous, might I add," He attempted and shook with relief as the merman leaned back in what appeared as consternation.

"Gorgeous," The merman deadpanned. "Honestly, halfling, if that is how you go about flirting-"

"Flirting?!"

"Then I can safely say that if you are not a bachelor now, you will be soon." He scoffed in distaste and Bilbo felt his blood boil.

Baggins's did not shout, did not raise fists, or lash out, but Bilbo wanted to do all three towards the merman because of his ugly insults. Perhaps it was because he was half Took or perhaps the sun had gotten to his head just a bit, but as soon as the merman lowered his eyes to look down at Bilbo, (even though Bilbo had the height advantage for he was standing and the other...well, the other simply couldn't) the blood rushed to his head and the grip on his hips tightened in anger.

"You pompous, ill mannered _fish_!" He yelled alight with fury. "It is no right of yours to insult me as such and-" He reared back as the merman snarled and leapt with shocking grace into the canal.

Disappearing with a minor plop into the dark blue water, the merman all but vanished and Bilbo's heart began pounding as if it wanted to burst. With incredible haste, he grabbed Delilah and forwent his basket, which could be replaced. Quickly snapping upward, his breath all but left him as black tendrils of hair decked with magnificent ornaments floated atop of the water and two frightening ice blue eyes peered up at him with no small amount of menace. Slowly, two great hands rested atop of the rock and abruptly the merman pushed his upper body skywards, until he was leaning towards Bilbo, balanced, on top of the hobbit's rock.

Stumbling backwards, Bilbo tripped slightly and fell down to the ground, but not too roughly, and stared directly into the face of a incensed brute of a merman not but four feet. He vaguely registered Delilah slipping from his grasp and onto the rock.

"Call me a bloody fish one more time," He dared with malevolence and Bilbo felt a dreadful pit form in his stomach at the notion that he might of insulted and been insulted by not just any merman. "And I shall rip your throat out."

The merman grinned, but it wasn't a pleasant grin to behold. Terrible and downright petrifying was more like it and despite how beautiful Bilbo thought the merman's physical appearance was, he felt himself quake with fear at his personality.

However, the merman did not know Bilbo's mother nor did Bilbo ever hope to meet the mother of such a bully, but Belladonna had taught Bilbo to stand up for himself when shot down, to be confident for there was nothing that he needed ashamed of. He was Bilbo Baggins, her precious son.

So Bilbo did the most foolish thing he could have ever done.

He opened his mouth.

"You're a bloody fish_, and_ a rude one at that." Bilbo spat sassily. Then he ran, —obviously, he liked his throat where it was, thank you, and there was no doubt in his mind that the merman would hesitate to carry out his plan for Bilbo's murder — sprinted from the channel with such a spirited speed he did not ever perceive he would be able to reach.

From behind him he heard a ferocious roar, which only served make him sprint harder because at that point, Bilbo did not want to wait and see if mermaids or crazy, impudent mermen could spout legs.

It was later that day, after several cups of chamomile to help him sleep without nightmares, that Bilbo realized he had left Delilah.

"Oh be-bother and confusticate!" He cursed because the fishing rod was older than himself and a wondrous gift from his deceased father. It was important in value and sentiment and Bilbo felt indignation and anger rise up once more, only to fester then harden into resolve.

He was going to have to belt up and go back.

XXX

Thorin collapsed on the rock and roared with laughter as the remarkably small hobbit darted from him in terror. It was cruel; he knew that, to torment a kindly child of Yavanna, but Thorin couldn't bring himself to care. To be frank, he didn't give a shit, but he would later when his deeds came back to him and he brooded over his horrendous skills at communication.

Thank Ulmo and Mahal that he had Balin to make the path of public relations and diplomacy easier for him in regards to Erebor. The older dwarrow-fin was a blessing from Mahal himself and had made time for Thorin to go wandering off, in his kingdom's territory of course, for some time as a mini vacation.

(Kings do not get vacations, so Thorin used the term loosely.)

"Proud of yerself, Thorin?" Questioned Dwalin, his appointed commander of the kingsguard and overseer of Erebor's Sea Army. "Thought he was gonna piss in his pants or release somethin' else with the way you were tarting yerself up." Thorin could hear the mocking smile and smiles cannot even be heard.

"Shut up," He hissed, face flushing pink before he composed himself. "Come to retrieve your monarch?" He asked with a cocked eyebrow.

Dwalin grunted and jerked his head to the right, carefully because of the large, hefty battle-axes strapped to his back. "Let us hurry back to Erebor. The tides are becoming restless." He said and Thorin readily agreed, his rare laughter fading and a flinty, all too familiar detached scowl plastered itself on his face.

"Lead the way." Thorin replied and Dwalin visibly startled. His king and closest friend always took charge, the place of the leader. It was where he belonged and thrived.

Looking closely at his shield-brother and king's face, Dwalin frowned. Thorin had not laughed in ages, some one hundred and forty years, and that laughter was not true and joyous. It was heartbreaking and hollow, just as Azanulbizar was.

While he could not read Thorin as well as his damn brother, Dwalin could tell when Thorin was feeling dejected, which was right then and there. The dwarrow-fin warrior bet that Thorin thought he was being discreet with his long, dramatic sighs and not so secretive glances back to the opening of the channel.

"Yer pussywhipped." He said bluntly and watched in pure entertainment as Thorin's face became pinched and red.

"I am pretty positive that the little hobbit does not have such a part." Thorin informed with dignity and a healthy red tint to his cheeks.

Dwalin laughed and laid a hand on his king's shoulder comradely. "I have your back, my king. One word to Balin that a feisty little hobbit made you laugh like never before and he'll have you comin' out here every other week."

Thorin did not smile but his chest warmed and his hand tightened on the sturdy pole that the insufferable and enchanting child of Yavanna had left. "And I even have a reason." He said with a hint of mischievousness.

Rolling his eyes and not even attempting to hide his unimpressed opinion, Dwalin shook his head gruffly, the closest thing to brotherly affection that Thorin would get from him these days.

"Aye, cannae argue with you there, you little shit."

Thorin shoved Dwalin roughly, before scoffing haughtily and sidestepping a fist intent on crushing his nose. "Do not forget whom you are speaking to." He huffed.

Dwalin smirked and adjusted his axes as his light red tail propelled him forwards. "I never do, unlike your hobbit beau, _fish_."

And while a highly offended and shaken hobbit slipped under his covers for the night with an elvish novel, the King Under the Mountain and his head commander swam into Erebor, both sporting bloody noses and scratched tails.

**A/N:**

**based off of this comic by .com:  
>post99106162166/yea-bilbo-its-fucken-rude-to-stare**

**Comments are appreciated. Hope you enjoyed.**


	2. Chapter Two

**_Chapter Two: Allergic To Conversations_**

It was past mid-morn, that much Bilbo could tell; there were also the incessant whines and rumbles emitting from his none-to-happy and all-to-empty stomach that reminded him, perhaps it would do him some good to eat. In the face of food, Bilbo could never say no or turn his back on a plate, so he wormed his way from under the covers only to slip on some slippers and patter out into the hallway, destination the kitchen.

Slathering on a generous portion of jam on a thick slice of rye, Bilbo sunk down into the polished wooden chair and stared forlornly at the kitchen table. The poor hobbit had not forgotten the events at the Channel a week ago and was more than disgusted at his lack of courage to head over and tromp upon a mad merman's head for Delilah. He actually had not found the time to make the hike over for the wine season was beginning and Bilbo, as the owner of a god portion of the vineyards in the Shire, had to inspect production and administration regularly. It was a solid excuse but Bilbo still felt like a coward.

"An over reaction on my behalf, that's for sure." He grumbled grumpily as he lifted his mug of steaming tea sprinkled with honey to his lips. "That unscrupulous bugger!" He exclaimed quietly for a Baggins never cursed, but Bilbo was half Took so exceptions could be made.

For a whole seven days, Bilbo had been fuming on the insides. His family members, distant or no, did not pick up on his inner turmoil except for Drogo, the good lad. However, the problem was that Bilbo could not divulge his secret to his favored younger cousin for it would make him a social pariah and Bilbo liked his social standing the way it was. Shallow the thought was but to confess to being harassed and robbed by a particularly beautiful and wicked merman was utterly bonkers.

In a fit of rage — and because he had nothing planned except dallying about — Bilbo threw down his toast upon a pile of scrambled eggs and stomped to his room, aggressively yanking on his usual fishing attire when he raided the closet. Muttering to himself under his breath about whose its and whats its galore, he snapped his suspenders once before snatching his sun hat off of the hat rack near his dresser.

Bilbo did not bother grabbing anything but a small wrap of apples and honey, his tackle box, and water for he had several other fishing poles in one of his closets but Delilah was his and Bilbo would be shaming his mother if he did not face a silly old sea creature who was anything but to rescue Delilah.

He was not stopped by nosy neighbors or meddling members of his family as he traveled at a brisk speed to the Brandywine trail, which came as a great relief because Bilbo had not compiled and stored the correct amount of patience he would need to deal with such trivial interruptions. For some reason, the walk seemed much longer than it even had before. It was quite possible that Bilbo was just working himself up into a tizzy and time always seems to slow down, like pouring light syrup to thick molasses, when one is exceptionally nervous.

"Oh stop your worrying, you old thing," Bilbo chided quietly at his panicking thoughts. "Just be a gentlehobbit and hopefully all will go well."

To speak with candor, Bilbo did not know if the merman would even be at the channel when he arrived. Poor planning, yes he knew, thank you, but it was not as if he could send out a letter or send a bird with a message to the merman. Bilbo had to make due with the resource he had, his quick, sometimes clumsy, feet and clever mind.

A still in his movements was a guarantee when he crossed from the palms into the dark sand. Bilbo would like to have thought his movements were sharp and concise but alas, they were not. Panicked and speedy was his quick examination, for he was just a hobbit and could only take so much unwelcome change.

Inside the deep delves of Bilbo's mind however; there was a part of him that was cajoling gratuity to the heavens for the merman. Preposterous and nonsensical as it was, Bilbo was excited to experience something so otherworldly and — dare he say — _adventurous. _(There laid the little fauntling who spent hours in the Shire woods searching for Elves and Ents, who came back to his smial with caked in dirt feet and cut elbows and knees. Bilbo never touched that outlandish part of himself since his parent's untimely death though.)

Shaking his head vigorously, Bilbo puffed up his chest and silently padded towards the water, its clearness morphing into murkiness as the channel deepened. His rock was on the edge of a sandbar, out a few feet but close to the shore, so Bilbo stepped into the shallow water, leaving his belongings this time in a safer place than before, and headed out towards his rock. He was alone for there was no merman in sight and Bilbo could not help the heavy stone that seemed to drop in his stomach. For goodness sake, he was an adult! There was no use getting misty eyed because he failed at retrieving an important gift passed down to father and son; a paternal bond that never broke, a loving hand on a son's shoulder even after death.

"_Is this for me, papa?" Bilbo asked, his hands clutching wads of his shirt and his eyes wide with light and mirth._

_Bungo had laughed. "Yes, my dear boy. Her name is Delilah and she is your proper fishing partner for all of the days to come."_

_With hesitant steps, Bilbo inched closer until curiosity got the best of him and he all but ran towards his father's outstretched palm only to take it and stare up at the smooth wooden pole occupying Bungo's other hand. _

"_I made it when I was a little boy," Bungo informed tenderly, his eyes glossing over the pole and then Bilbo. "Delilah is a fine companion and a sturdy catcher of fish if she is used properly." He smiled at Bilbo's questioning gaze. "Don't you worry, fauntling. I shall teach you all of my secrets!"_

_Bilbo laughed joyously before his small hands curled over his father's own. "I love her, but I love you more." He said quietly and Bungo exhaled softly. "I want you be my fishing, papa. Forever."_

"_Oh child," Bungo has whispered. "I'm afraid that is not how it works. One day, I will leave this world," At Bilbo's dismayed cry, Bungo heard Belladonna's clanking in the kitchen stop and he cringed inwardly. This was not going how he planned and now he was going to have to tell a five year old that eventually his parents and everyone else around him were going to die. "No, no, Bilbo. Please don't cry! Your mother would have my head!" He murmured with humor and luckily his oh so smart son caught on and reigned in the wayward tears forming in his eyes._

"_I don't want you to leave. I don't want momma to leave." Bilbo said with quiet anger. "Why?" He asked, the sentence incomplete but the not the question. _

_Bungo sighed heavily. "Everyone leaves eventually, my boy, even the Elves. It is the way the world works and there is nothing to be done about it, sadly." He sensed the dark mood fanning over Bilbo and placed a kiss at the crown of his head, handing him Delilah._

"_When I die, Delilah will still be with you and I will be with Delilah, for I put my heart and soul into making her." Bungo placed a wrinkled finger on Bilbo's small chest. "I will also be in here, your heart, so never think you are alone in spirit, my son. Never forget your father's love."_

_Bilbo nodded and curled closer to his father, not noticing his mother's solid presence at the doorway. "I promise."_

Bilbo wondered if the merman had lost his father, so when he properly berated the beast for stealing such an invaluable treasure, he could feel the massive guilt that he deserved. Hobbits did not usually think revenge as sweet or proper, but Bilbo could not find himself giving a single damn at the moment about propriety and whatnot. Yavanna have mercy, this merman was causing him more trouble and grief than the _fish_ was worth!

Wiping the thin tears trickling down his cheeks nimbly away, in not shame but sorrow, Bilbo plopped down on the rock and stuck his feet into the water, lightly shivering at the refreshment it brought. An old anguish bloomed in his chest and his past fears about the merman seemed to vanish.

Leave it to a mystical creature to bring back mournful memories and heartbreak.

His sunhat slumped forward with his shoulders and the stricken hobbit closed his eyes tightly, feet kicking back and forth as an attempt to calm his nerves. Bilbo planned to stay all day at his rock and nothing could stop him.

XXX

Thorin felt awful.

Kings were not supposed feel awful about their rational, carefully thought out deeds but apparently Thorin was the odd one out. From his side, he checked on one of the two guards sent with him, by Dís and Balin who were adamant about the fact that despite his golden battle prowess and warrior status, he was not indestructible or immortal (unlike those seaweed shagging sirens with their ugly pointed ears) and since he was being allowed to leave Erebor once a week, he needed to take a damn guard. The guard was stoic and stony, as they were taught, and Thorin hummed lowly in approval, watching amusedly as the guard stiffened and his cheeks reddened with pride.

"_Good lad,_" He thought proudly until he looked back at the dejected hobbit on the rock. "_Unlike I."_

Thorin was at the bottom of the channel, its sand white and only defiled by a little mud, but that was nothing to worry about. What was troubling was the red rimmed eyes the comely hobbit sported and Thorin's grip loosened on the rod, which he had taken the time to polish and set a protective gloss over it so the pole would not rot underwater.

Perhaps he should have just left it there because the fishing pole obviously held great importance, a family heirloom or a courting gift? At that, Thorin groaned aloud, ignoring the strange glance from his two guards because their king never looked anything but frostily composed and imposing. He was a right blighter, Thorin knew that, but he would never admit aloud for he was too proud and too regal. But to make a child of Yavanna cry, that was a low thing to do and Thorin honestly did not know how to fix this mess.

He had just wanted to talk. _That_ was obviously not going to happen now.

With the will of the most stubborn dwarrow-fin in existence and the confidence of a mighty sea king, Thorin swam upwards, not directly under the hobbit's curious waggling limbs but to his own rock. Spotting his harp, Thorin immediately grasped it from the secure cove he had dug to safeguard it in and shot up to the surface.

With stealth and not a single sound, Thorin hoisted himself up and wiped the hair out of his face and thankfully, he had taken off his heavy crown and replaced it with his beads of pearl and the seashell clasp embedded with the king's jewel: the Arkenstone, so he did not have to worry about his head developing nasty headaches from pressure. Bringing his harp made of coral into his lap, Thorin began singing a ballad from dwarven history about two lovers from warring tribes finally meeting only to be executed in the end.

Not the best choice and not the happiest to help comfort the hobbit but the tune was cheerful enough and it was not like the child of Yavanna could understand Khuzdul anyways. Thorin had always prided himself for his skills at the harp, but never song. Dís constantly begged him to sing for he had a "truly wonderful voice", but Thorin would only indulge her when the two were alone and that occurrence was seldom for heavy is the head that wears the crown, figuratively and literally. The hobbit wouldn't understand how meaningful Thorin singing to him was but then again, Thorin did not understand the significance of the fishing pole either.

It looks like they were both clueless and what a pair they made, clueless and in gloomy moods.

As his song ended, Thorin slowly opened his eyes and found the hobbit staring at him intensely with what Thorin recognized as anger and shock. The sea king could not help but notice how arresting the lovely child of the earth's eyes were. Blue like smooth sapphires and flickering with sparks of aquamarine. Prepossessing in every which way.

"You took Delilah." The enraged hobbit accused softly. "May I please have her back?"

Thorin nodded sincerely even though he was quite confused. He had taken no maiden, only a pole! "I would like to formally ask for your forgiveness for my actions last week, Master Hobbit." He began, placing his harp to the side and picking up the rod with careful hands. "To take my stress out on you and threatening you like an uncultured dwarrow-fin is not appropriate of anybody, especially I." He was still staring at the hobbit as a sign of respect but it seemed to only make the earth walker squirm.

And that was a sight to see in itself.

"Tis a fine pole." He said in what he hoped came across as genuine and something seemed to click. "Delilah?" He mostly asked himself in strong amusement.

The hobbit's anger visibly deflated and Thorin watched, stunned at the kindness, as a small, lovely smile graced his lips. "Yes, Delilah; my past father gave her to me when I was a child." He explained quietly and Thorin took this interlude as an opportunity to slide back into the water and wade over to the rock.

Eyes widening in alarm, the hobbit pointed a dainty finger at him. "Y-you stay over there!" He cried. "I do not trust you and that awful temper of yours, Master Merman!"

As if he was speaking to a child, Thorin slowed down and tried to soften his hardened expression. "I would not hurt you, even if my words today are contrary to the rude and childish actions of last week. Please heed them for I am speaking nothing but the truth right now."

With an imperceptible scoot to the side the hobbit reluctantly nodded. He was still wary and tense, but not as fevered as before. "You do not speak like a commoner." The hobbit pondered aloud, his curiosity overriding his bewilderment and fear. "Are all mermen-"

"Dwarrow-fins." Thorin corrected quickly because he was most certainly _not_ a mermaid or merman and it was about time the hobbit cease addressing him as such. "Mermen are a separate race of sea people, as are Sirens." He added for better understanding.

Thorin watched a gleam appear in the hobbit's eyes shared by scholars everywhere, no matter the race or world they dwelled in and a flare of heat dashed across Thorin's own eyes. Dwalin always said he liked them small and smart for it would balance his own big and blundering self. Of course, his head commander had gotten a black eye for such a remark (and on a lesser note, Thorin had received a bruised stomach that was easily covered by his formal robes so there was no fuss about the king being abused. On an even lesser note, Thorin had rolled his eyes so hard at that particular rumor that Fíli had truly been worried about them falling out.)

"If you let me rest on the edge of your rock, I shall indulge you in the ways of the seas." Thorin offered in all seriousness before stilling and inwardly sighing at his poor choice of words. How Dwalin would laugh if he could hear him, the sod.

The sea king's inner woes disappeared instantly as a rich coloring bloomed on the hobbit's face. "Of course," He said, nervous and intrigued by the promise of knowledge. "But do not get to close," Thorin frowned. "Yes, I forgive you for hobbits do not hold grudges, but please respect my weariness for the time being." The hobbit rapidly shot out and it was all Thorin could do to just nod and place a hand on the surface.

Bringing the pole out of the water, Thorin cradled the fishing rod, _Delilah_, in his hands and passed it on to the ecstatic hobbit with a twinge of guilt and his own happiness that he dutifully ignored. "I believe this is yours." He rumbled, his fins curling at the wide, toothy smile the hobbit gave him.

The hobbit gripped onto the pole like a lifeline and Thorin felt another wave of guilt hit him. "I have lost my father as well, and my mother," He suddenly confessed, his fins curling even more and his tail barely moving, causing him to lean against the rock. "And I can tell you that losing a family member it is the most painful thing to go through."

A soft, dry hand placed itself over Thorin's own with a sad amount of hesitance. Startling at the contact, Thorin's entire body stiffened, his tail going ramrod straight and his expression turning frigid on reflex. As quick as the hand came, it dashed away and Thorin held back his hand from chasing after it.

"Uhm," The hobbit looked embarrassed before seeming to gain his confidence back. Looking at Thorin with the eyes of one who has known death and grief, the hobbit smiled at him somberly. "It seems like we are not so different after all."

Not daring to move closer for he did not want to destroy the fragile acceptance between them, Thorin merely rested his chin in his hand, cupping it and staring thoughtfully at the cracks in the rock. "Why, it seems like you are correct, Master Hobbit."

"Goodness me, what did you do to my fishing rod?" The hobbit all but yelled, his tone coloring with surprise and Thorin whipped his head towards the earth child in doubt.

The hobbit's mouth was opened slightly and his free hand was running down the length of Delilah, admiring the silky finish and sandpapered sharpness to the newly refurbished handle and rings for keeping the line in check. Not one to put down an opportunity to explain an unknown subject to a willing student, Thorin lifted his head up and calmly placed one hand over the other atop of the rock, poised and professional.

"It is called an ointment and it is one of many." Thorin explained, his hands forming a small cylinder shape. "The one I used for your rods is a medical salve that is just for dry and itchy scales." Thorin leaned further back on the rock and slowly unveiled his tail from underneath the water's surface.

Pointing at the glimmering dark blue scales, Thorin looked towards the hobbit who was all but ignoring him, perhaps the sea king had been forgotten, in the face of his wonderful tail. "I do not have such a problem, but to show you the scales," He twisted his lower half, his tail following, and the scales glistened wetly and exuberant. "That I can do."

"My," The hobbit breathed outwards and Thorin could not help the curl of his tail fins that followed the wicked sound. "They are quite…well, I have never seen anything shine as they do, like a…I cannot find the right words, Master Dwarrow-fin except to say that your tail is stunning."

The fins on his neck, opened as Thorin huffed loudly, embarrassed at flaunting himself shamelessly ("_Like a tart," Dwalin guffawed and Thorin hissed curses_) and flustered at the hobbit's reaction, which he would deny to have ever felt, even on his deathbed. His fins were a lighter shade of blue than his tail for they had less exposure to the sun due to his hair, and they fluttered freely in wind. They were thin and rich in color, though the texture was more like ruffled silk fabric than the coarse and rough texture of the elder dwarrow-fins. With a keen eye, the child of the West noticed the additional appendages and harshly sucked in a breath. Thorin returned his quickly drying tail to the sea.

"Y-your neck," He stammered. "There are fins." With a slightly crazed laugh, the child seemed to sway. "Hmm, yes, I should not have expected any less or any more Silly old me."

Thorin grunted in bemusement, his fins shaking along with his body. "They allow me to breathe, Master Hobbit. I am thankful I have such fins for without them I would be a bloated body floating in the middle of the ocean." He stated dryly.

The hobbit wrinkled his nose in distaste and shuddered at his morbid and grisly words. "Must you say such ghastly words, Master Dwarrow-fin? I would be thankful to never imagine you floating dead in the middle of the ocean, it is quite the disturbing thought."

Thorin laughed out loud, but it came out stunted and strained. "Aye, it would be quite the shock to my sister if she woke up one day only to find me dead on the surface."

"Oh, enough of such dreadful talk!" The hobbit exclaimed and yipped offended when he saw amusement flashing through the lovely sea creature's eyes. "Why, you; you were messing with me!" He faulted with a pointing finger and disbelief written plainly across his face. "I should not be too shocked, though," The child of the West puffed, "Last time we met you bullied me into believing you were some horrible sea monster!"

At that, Thorin scowled unpleasantly. "Again, I would apol—"

"There is no need to repeat yourself, Master Dwarrow-fin." The hobbit smoothly interrupted and Thorin felt an indignant flare rise up his throat. "You are a proud and honorable dwarrow-fin, I can tell, but as I trusted your words you must be willing to trust mine if we are to get anything from this." The child smiled, his face glowing in the pink hue of the setting sun and Thorin found himself not wanting to leave, even if the time of his departure was veering closer and closer with every passing ripple or wave.

"The tide is rising, Master Hobbit." Thorin pointed out, swallowing a thick lump down his dry throat. Being above water for so long was not good for his health and soon he would have to return to his own domain. "You should head home for while some things vary vastly concerning the world of the ocean and land, wandering at night will always be a calling for crime and sins to the very worst of our races."

"Bilbo," The hobbit introduced, thrusting out his hand with the awkwardness of a dwarfling and the hesitance of an intimated apprentice. "My name is Bilbo Baggins and see to it that you remember." He added wittily, giving Thorin a nervous toothy smile.

Slowly so as not to seem eager, Thorin clasped Bilbo's outstretched hand and marveled at how his own enveloped the hobbit's. His fingers had lost their webbing from being exposed to the surface air for too long so there was nothing unfamiliar to his newfound acquaintance when the two males shook hands.

"Master Baggins," Thorin started, not sure how to ask Bilbo when his free days were, for he obviously had some. No hard laborer had hands as soft as Bilbo's, even if the hobbit's had a few calluses from holding small tools at best. "The water pleases you?" He asked, the real question on the tip of his tongue but his voice not being able to say it.

Bilbo quirked an eyebrow and his face heated lightly. "I come to fish every Saturday, if you had any suspicions." He told Thorin with faint laughter. "Pray tell me, mighty dwarrow-fin, does today happen to be the day when you are off of work or whatever your occupation is as well?"

Oh, if kingship was only as simple as an occupation! Thorin would not have such striking strands of silver, (Kíli had called them strands of Mithril when he was of the tender age of fifteen, but Thorin suspected the little imp had wanted something. Shortly after, Kíli demanded Thorin pick him up and carry him around all day; suspicions confirmed) in his hair. Nor would he have raging headaches from the infinite number of councils he had to appear and debate at. Nor would he have the burden of feeding, caring, protecting, and ruling tens of thousands of dwarrow-fins and dam-nymphs.

"It is not set in stone, but" _Say it, you old, stubborn dwarrow-fin!_ "If today is the day you travel to the channel, then today is also the day I travel to visit you." He concluded brusquely, his jaw set in unjustifiable annoyance at his nervousness and dependency on Bilbo for something he could not pinpoint.

He was not ready for such a development. Bilbo's presence was what he desired in the first place and Thorin would have to be satiated with his presence and presence only.

Bilbo smiled gently, confusedly, and smugly. "You wish to become my new fishing partner?" He questioned jokingly and in good-spirits before Thorin frowned and nodded solemnly.

"It would be my honor, to help you catch fish, Bilbo Baggins." He confirmed soberly and watched in perplexity as Bilbo gave an exasperated sigh.

"Leave it to you, and this is from someone who has only known your delightful self for maybe two hours, to completely intensify situations and make them so much more complicated and awkward than before." Thorin opened his mouth to lecture on the importance of honor and duty when the hobbit shot him a scathing glare. "There you go again, Master Dwarrow-fin!" Bilbo glared and observed the Sea King Under the Mountain as if he was not quite sure how things progressed to their current standings.

"Perhaps you would now have my forgiveness, for it seems your personality is a complexity in itself, and it is quite apparent that you just have a default face of hardened regality and sourness, judging from the way you are utterly unaware of how frightening your scowls can be." Bilbo stopped and leaned closer to the baffled sea king with a wily glint in his eye. "Or maybe you do, and you just like intimidating people."

Thorin quirked a minuscule smile, his head-tilting forward slightly in abashment. "Keen eyes and a keen mind," Thorin said approvingly and almost hooted with laughter at Bilbo rolling his eyes at him and crossing his arms. "It is all apart of my…_occupation_."

Bilbo grinned, "And what would that be?" He wondered, looking expectantly at the king and Thorin shrugged loosely, his fins retracting only to spread back out when he lowered himself into the water so that he was submerged from the chin down. "Oh, do enlighten me, my new fishing partner." He pressed stubbornly and Thorin gave a small smirk.

"I am afraid that my mysterious livelihood calls, Master Baggins." Thorin's mood fell as he saw his guards swim in circles, awaiting his presence to head back to the glorious underwater mountain kingdom, below him. "And I am afraid that if you do not hurry, you shall be traversing though the palms and oaks in dead darkness." He looked at Bilbo pointedly, to which the hobbit scoffed.

"Come back on Saturday," Bilbo said with hope frosting his tone sweetly. With dismay, Thorin watched as the hobbit looked visibly startled by his invitation. The acute puzzlement quickly disappeared when Thorin cleared his throat and gave a regal nod. "Come back on Saturday and I shall attempt to correctly guess your true employment."

"You have my word." Thorin tilted his head once more in agreement and pushed himself off of the rock completely, passionately ignoring the hollow emptiness he felt at leaving Bilbo for another week. "And my name, Master Baggins, is Thorin Oakenshield,' _Son of Thraín, son of Thrór, Sea King Under the Mountain and of Durin's Folk, High Lord of Erebor and the Dwarrowdelf Straights and Pools._

Honestly, one can only have so many titles.

"Thorin…Oakenshield," Bilbo tried to say aloud and Thorin sunk into the water even more, his mane of hair floating around his face and hiding his flustered cheeks and fluttering gills. "Well, it was nice meeting you, properly, Master Oakenshield." Bilbo hummed and groaned lightly as he stood, his strange limbs — _legs _— stretching.

"Saturday," Thorin said quickly and dove underwater with elegance and speed before he floundered through another conversation.

Up above, he heard a gleeful laughter and warmth flooded his chest. Ignoring the queer glances from his guards, Thorin hastily snapped a sharp command and the two dwarrow-fin warriors scampered to keep up with their king as he raced back to his kingdom with an energy they had not seen since he had been tasked with carrying around the two princes when they were babes.

As strange as the sudden change in their revered monarch was, the two guards felt as if, maybe, such a change was not so bad after all.

**A/N:**

**Reviews are appreciated and hope you enjoyed.**


	3. Chapter 3

_**Chapter Three: Allergic to Council**_** Meetings**

"Balin tells me that you handled the annual meeting with the Elvenking with a shocking amount of patience and tact - which is just saying that you didn't grumble curses or glare at him for the entirety of the meeting." Dís patted her brother's tail with affection. "So don't think that just because you managed to tolerate his presence without exuding an aura of complete and utter disdain means you've risen in the ranks of diplomacy."

Thorin snorted, a small smile forming slowly on his stern face. "Your kind and gracious words do much to soothe my inner worries of whether or not I appeased that _hakhakh._"

Dís frowned at him before smacking his royal blue fin, which was floating slothfully in the lazy tide of his chambers. A twinkle of tenderness however, remained in her eyes. "Now you are just being petulant, _nadad_."

"Who's being petulant?" Fíli implored with never ending curiosity as his brother and he all but burst into Thorin's receiving chambers with the vigor and strength of the young dwarrow-fins they were. "If you're talking about Kíli, I understand, but I was nothing but the best these past few days so it would be unfair if you were talking about me."

"Hey!" Kíli's tail lashed out at his brother's own in offense. "I'm not the one who-"

Quickly, to Thorin as Dís's entertainment, Fíli readily shot forward and brought his brother into a headlock, his eyes wide with nervousness. "Kíli, I'll tell Uncle Thorin about that one time when you-"

"Okay, okay!" Kíli jerked back his fin, colliding and whacking Fili's, causing the older sibling to release the entrapped younger one out of pain. "Fine, I get it," Kíli huffed, crossing his arms and snapping his nose up in the water.

"Must you provoke your brother so?" Dís narrowed her eyes at Fíli, her hair bobbing gently behind her as her deep violet tail sliced the water.

Fíli muttered something under his breath and his eyebrows furrowed in pain while Kíli turned to his brother with an impish smile. "Yes, dear brother, must you?"

"Kíli," Drawled Thorin while he placed his elbows upon the armrests of his chair. He slowly clasped his webbed hands together and gave a frown. Kíli paled as his uncle's unwavering glare was turned upon him. "Do not think that you are free of the blame. For you two to automatically think that you've done something wrong indicates a much needed lesson on mannerisms." He said while he turned towards a bemused Dís. "Two hours with Balin every other day?" He ventured jokingly but with a stern facade.

Honestly, the trouble-making escapades of Fíli and Kíli would never end, no matter how many times Thorin and Dís shipped them off to Balin and Dwalin for training, but a little teasing now and then would give the two miscreants a taste of their own medicine.

"Brother of mine, that sounds like a wonderful plan." Dís smiled toothily before glaring at her two sons, who in turn blanched.

"Now wait just a minute, please." Fíli started, his light yellow tail unable to resist hitting his brother's pale blue one. "Most esteemed uncle and beautiful mother, perhaps you should rethink this whole punishment-"

"Because that's what training with Balin and Dwalin is,"

"And in turn, subject us to one of uncle's lengthy lectures,"

"That are a form of torture themselves," Kíli added in a matter-of-factly tone and Thorin scowled.

"And we shall most definitely mull over and mend our behavior accordingly." Fíli shot his brother a withering look and tried to placate his uncle with a nervous smile.

Thorin hid the glimmer of appraisement at Fíli's finely tuned speech while Dís sighed and took a breath of water. "Mahal, you two, just sit down and read over your lessons." She commanded. "It's useless trying to argue with any dwarrow-fin who has Durin's blood running through their veins." At that she looked pointedly at Thorin who gave an imperceptible shrug.

"One could say the same about the dam-nymphs, and not just the ones with the blood of Durin."

A soft choking noise came from one of the two lads, Fíli, Thorin suspected, and Dís leaned forward in her chair, her mouth opening to retort some scathing reply and fist clenched to whack her brother and king over the head if he got too lippy. However, instead of beginning an argument with her brother, Dís unclenched her hand and brought it up to place a strong and curved finger on his bare chest. "You are attempting to instigate familial banter with me, Thorin."

"Or in other words," Kíli piped up with disbelief coloring his tone. "You're trying to be… playful." He said the last word unsurely.

Thorin frowned heavily and he lightly flicked his sister's finger away earning a glare promising retribution. "And what of it?" He growled, not appreciating his sister's examining gaze.

Contemplatively, Dis rubbed her bare chin and slid her hand upwards to smooth down the wispy black beard that grew on her jawbone and the sides of her face. "It is strange," she answered, looking at her brother directly in his eyes. "You are not made of stone yet you act like it. You never indulge yourself a smile unless it is some momentous occasion or reunion." Dís waved away Thorin's advances and lightly tapped her deep violet fin against his. "The visits to the upper lands are doing you well, brother."

With not one stutter, Thorin faltered as imperiously as possible. "Sister, your eyes see all and your nose sniffs every whiff of gossip in sight." The Sea King grunted dourly. "May Erebor be spared from your omniscience."

"By the maker, Thorin!" Dís exclaimed with a hint of elation and perturbation. "You are in a mood today!"

"Yes, uncle," Fíli drawled as he cast a heavy eye over his king and leader in both political and personal terms. "You're jesting toomuch and it is..."

"Unsettling? Inconceivable?"

"No, Kíli, that's _not _the word I was looking for." Fíli hummed in concentration before his eye widened in victory and his diaphanous golden tail flexed with every merry turn he made around his family: two confused royals and an unhappy king. "Unusual!"

"Same thing." Kíli griped indignantly.

Thorin scowled thunderously and Fíli immediately swam slowly towards the stone perch next to the shelves of shell scrolls. "A prince, of Erebor nonetheless, should learn to hold his tongue." He said coldly, ignoring the jabs he felt from Dís's hand, coiled and squeezing his forearm like a wretched sea snake. "Or one might cut it off if it gets too loose." He warned and Kíli looked towards Thorin in trepidation.

"Are you…? You're messing with us, aren't you?" He squinted and his fins flickered flightily.

He did not deign Kíli with an answer and simply hauled himself up from his own rock, hemmed and hewn for his comfort, and swam over to his chambers without a word; his family out of sight but Dís's cluck of her tongue resonating throughout the room all too loudly.

Thorin's crown weighed upon his brow but glimmered in the light of Erebor's lively and glowing stones and water. He was to attend multiple meetings for Balin would have his fins and beard if he did not. According to the currents, it had only been three days since he last saw the kindly child, Bilbo, and Thorin was felt the unbidden arcane binds tug at his chest and tail with every passing moment. They were itching and pulsing with the need to break the surface, the anticipation of seeing the earth child once more.

Adventures, however bloody and full of carnage they were, Thorin had experienced and would probably go on more if duty called for such. Battles, Thorin was seasoned and strong but would never grow accustomed to the harrying stench of rotting corpse swaying horrifically in the patches of seaweed or the sharks descending on scattered limbs, tendons and strewn flesh. Being the ruler of the most powerful kingdom in the East was something Thorin had been born to inherit, to conquer. However, there was seldom a time that Thorin got to himself besides a few idle minutes in between meetings and open court.

Bilbo provided a serene sense of tranquility and calmness that only his brother, dead and ashes washed away for there were no proper burials, even for a son of Durin, after Azanulbizar, could give. Only two meetings, one belligerent and one hesitant than pleasant, had occurred between Bilbo.

Thorin was determined to make it twenty, thirty, forty, a thous-

"Lord Ragnór and Triton are awaiting, my liege." Balin twittered from Thorin's side in the royal hallways of Erebor, leading to the northern main hall and then the vast staircases, levels upon levels, of limestone, jade, and gold with a fine hue of iridescent colors. "You were wandering aimlessly again, head in the clouds, even though it looked more of a storm than anything." With an elevated eyebrow, Balin eyed Thorin curiously.

With a gruff huff, Thorin settled his hands behind his back and swam into rhythm with his chief advisor. "Obviously, my wandering was not as aimless as you claim it to be for I found you, did I not?"

Balin chuckled, his dense white beard jiggling jollily. "Semantics, your majesty." He said and Thorin did well to hide his smile. "Hopefully this fine mood will continue throughout open court?" Balin ventured, his mouth quirked upwards.

Releasing a soft grunt, Thorin leveled Balin with a contrary gaze. "To be able to stay fresh faced and merry through an entire council meeting, which Triton will no doubt hound me endlessly about my time away from the kingdom, and open court is a feat not even Durin himself could accomplish." The Sea King spoke hastily in his anger. "I shall hand you the crown right now, cousin. Surely, you can bear the weight of appeasing the people with false happiness and fake smiles."

As if his chief advisor had been awaiting such words, Balin's rich burgundy tail swirled as he inched closer to his king. "False happiness?" He checked the hall for any stragglers and when the old dwarrow-fin found none known, he returned his sharp gaze upon Thorin once more. "Laddie, you are an highly introverted, stubborn dwarrow-fin," he raised a soothing hand against Thorin's ire, his gills poking out from his beard as Balin swam harder to catch up to his annoyed king.

"And there are so few of us who can tell when you are feeling ill or downcast." Balin murmured, making Thorin feel as if he was a young finling, green and naïve. "You must tell me when the great burden upon your shoulders becomes to much to bear."

"Tis not your concern." Thorin grit out, his tail undulating as he surged forward, the surrounding water flowing off of him as if he were a smooth, oiled stone.

With his persona being prideful and having a skill for dogged determination, Thorin would never admit having felt extremely embarrassed by his speedy retreat. His crown glinting gold proved otherwise; there would be no weaknesses spoken about, nor would there be any frivolous conversations about whether or not he was something as useless as happy. It mattered not, being happy - unlike health -, when one held the heart and soul of a rich, hearty kingdom in their hands. All Thorin needed to be was stern and unmoving as the sea mountain herself - strong and good to his people.

A rusty yellow tail jolted him from his thoughts and Thorin realized with a small inhalation of seawater that he had already entered the meeting chambers. Coral and limestone decorated the walls, as well as rich tapestries with ancient dwarven magic interwoven in-between threads to kept the hue proper and dense. Used as a war room in times of trouble, the chambers had witnessed hundreds of years of internal debates and kingly orders. Hopefully, if Thorin had anything to say about it, the chamber would witness thousands more.

The thirteen members of the Sea King's council were already stationed upon their assigned rock (Thrór had them sculpted into chairs), the table made of marble and sea green jade. Many of them were elders, traditional aristocratic dwarves that not Thorin but Thrór picked for his own. If Thorin had not inherited his grandfather's conservative ways, he would have gladly purged the council of such pig-headed and obstinate-just-because dwarrow-fins in a heartbeat.

"Ah, my liege, we have been awaiting your presence for some time now," One of the lords, Boír, son of Noír, crooned with the closest thing to a sneer one could be in the lines of respectability.

Thorin maintained his austerity but desperately wanted to scoff. Instead, he stared coolly at Boír before tilting his head in greeting. "My chief advisor is right behind me," he informed and as if on cue, Balin came swimming in with a pinched expression; his tail kicking more violently than usual.

"Good morning, my lord dwarrow-fins." Balin nodded curtly before gracefully sinking down onto his stone seat.

Pointing to the small sliver of seaweed caught in his white beard, Thorin gently nudged Balin's tail with his fin. His chief advisor swiftly swiped the plant from the front of his beard and sent Thorin a grateful yet still waspish look that was fleeting and only visible to the Sea King.

His frown only grew deeper as the Sea King knew only a laborious lecture and disapproving stares could come out of peeving off the elder son of Fundin.

"Now that we are all present," Thorin began to announce, focusing his attention on the two wealthiest lords besides those of royal blood, Ragnór and Triton. "We will start this meeting by allowing any worries or dilemmas causing quandaries to be voiced."

At that, Balin slowly turned his head towards Thorin, his red dotted gills opening and closing in disbelief. Thorin ignored him and awaited the utter maelstrom of complaints and whines that he had just given leave to.

"Well," Said Lord Bormur with heaving coughs. "I must say the conditions of the Tailor's and Seamstresses Guild's halls are abysmal! It's those blasted jewelers at work again!" His cries gained volume as he listed off the crimes apparently commented by the Jeweler's Guild.

Soon, because many of the council members were Jewelers, the open discussion became an open war of snark and bellows. Thorin felt rather than saw the groan that Balin emitted and gave a sigh himself. His chief advisor probably saw it as a moment of sheer idiocy by his king but Thorin had only wanted to evade being hounded by his council about his excursions to the surface. The king knew about the childish turned lethal spat between the Jeweler's and Tailor's and Seamstresses Guild, and he was quite lucky that it was the first thing brought up for if it had not, his questionably clever plan would have been all for naught.

Ten minutes became forty and forty become an hour when Lord Triton, a large, bulky dwarf with a nasty gash across his cheekbones and nose, carefully stood up and looked at his king straight in the eyes, a sign of either respect or disrespect. Thorin vouched for latter for Triton never agreed with anything Thorin did, even Thorin's pearl circlet.

"Your majesty," He gave a formal nod even as his eyes narrowed. "Two times now, possibly there is even a third, have you gone to visit those _land-dwellers_." The fruitless arguments died out one by one and were replaced with pursed lips and hard stares. "With the upmost respect, I have to wonder at why a king, most famed and revered," Thorin sneered at that. "Would travel to the surface for hours on end?"

"Perchance there is something at work here, hmm?" Lord Ragnór slithered into the conversation with practiced ease. "This council's duty is to help lead Erebor and advise the king. If there is a threat to Erebor's security, we are in the right to know." The aged dwarrow-fin leaned forward and Thorin could feel the blood boiling in his veins. Surely-surely, the dwarrow-fin lord would not utter any more.

"For threats can come from all manner of things," Ragnór's murky brown eyes turned into slits and Thorin instantly clenched his jaw; his eyes alight. "From all manners of people-"

"Hold your tongue!" Yelled Balin - his usually calm demeanor burning with anger at the insinuations towards Thorin. "How dare you speak such treasonous words to your king!"

"He is cavorting with those filthy dirt treaders behind our backs! Nothing but ruin and pollution comes from those monsters and our king is secretly meeting with them instead of tending to his kingdom!"

From the opposite end of the table, Lords Doín and Rhoín leapt to their steel coated tails and violently cut at the water with their arms as they defended their king; the others suddenly joined in the fray, roaring out threats and flying and cutting through the water with every sharp movement of their fins and tails. Balin's gills were flaring outwards, as were Thorin's, and the chief advisor was quietly, but powerfully, ordering more guards to come to the hall.

It was when Dwalin stepped into the room, his face uncontrolled in his fury that Thorin gracefully swam towards his two heretic advisors and floated before them.

"You claim that I am a threat to Erebor, no matter how obscure your accusations were." His webbed fingers pressed tightly together as he clenched his fists. "Pray tell, have you forgotten what I have done for this kingdom? I led my people from poverty to a homely life in Ered Luin. I built a new home for my people when they had nothing but the clothes on their backs and each other to call home. How my company of thirteen and I took back Erebor with nothing but a map and a key? How we trapped that foul serpent Smaug and slew the beast?" Thorin paused, his face turning purple in wrath and his veins protruding as they pulsed with rage.

"You are old but advanced age does not guarantee an accumulation of wisdom, for if you had any, you would have used those awful excuses for spies you hire to watch my every move-"

"Dallying around with a earth walker!" Boomed Triton as he pointed finger towards Thorin with unconcealed anger, bubbles frothing at the tip. "Speaking and _singing_-"

Gasps rang out from the council members and even the guards' mouths opened in undisguised shock. Balin was the only one who did not seem incredibly surprised and Thorin quickly darted his eyes to Dwalin, trying to get a message across, as his best companion was not at the last meeting between Bilbo and him.

_'He wouldn't listen to me when I tried to apologize.'_ Then a, _'stop laughing, you shit head!'_ Thorin hastily signed in a modified version of Iglishmêk that he and Dwalin had created when they were naught but finlings_. 'So I sang the ballad, you know, the depressing one.'_

Thorin watched as Dwalin's eyes widened and a toothy smile burst upon his face, unabashed and amused. _'You old fucker!'_ He signed sloppily as he tried to halt his laughter. _'How is it that you still get all of the dams?'_

_'_I'm_ actually attractive,_' Thorin signed back, equally sloppy before whipping around and grabbing Triton by the back of his neck with a vice like grip. He had to take action for the words spoken were as good as a confession. Thorin also made a mental note to interrogate the two guards that had swam with him just to be sure. It would do Erebor no good to have spies and traitors lurking in the shadows at every turn and corner.

"You are hereby charged with treason against your king, unlawful spying, criminal activity against the king." He yanked the old dwarrow-fin back in an unusual show of violence, the bubbles popping up from the harsh movements muffling the dwarrow-fin's voice, and slammed his dense head upon the rock with heavy force.

Ignoring the loud crack of bone against rock and the spray of dark blood, Thorin took no small amount of pleasure as Dwalin grabbed the bleeding and spitting lord, only to clasp steel chains upon his tail and hands. Motioning to Ragnór, Balin ordered a swift arrest and a cutting of the tongues and fins for both of the traitors in addition to an indefinite sentence in the black cells of Erebor.

Amidst the chaos, Thorin turned to the rest of his council and swept his gaze over all of them, steadily and proudly. "I thank thee, loyalty and steadfast honor is all I ask besides wit and clarity. You have done well by me and your name and while there are still muddled matters, the light will be shone on those that have actual importance."

The blacksmith of the group besides Thorin himself, Nari, tapped a webbed hand, thick and veiny, on the table. "Are you saying that your trips to the outer world are unimportant?" He ventured soberly, with no malcontent.

"Yes, for the only reason I go up there is for a sense of peace." Thorin admitted gravelly, his stance and bearing strong. "Tis only a short distance-" Thorin could hear the snort Dwalin would let out for it was two hours, at most, to Bilbo's channel. "And there is no underlying or prominent threat to Erebor in my trips. I would never allow such a thing. Not after everything my people and I have been through to retake our home."

Nari nodded in a sharp fashion before gazing at Thorin with respect and curiosity. "We will follow you, my king. Just as I did your father and grandfather." He stated seriously, brow set and bubbles blowing out of his nose with every exhalation.

Thorin tilted his head forward in recognition and lifted a hand to silence the buzzing room. "My lords, even though we have had some complications there is still a meeting to be run."

It was then that Balin questioned Gori, son of Girón about the security of the limestone foundations of the western wing, section thirty-eight, zone nine, that Thorin begrudgingly wished that a certain kindly child of the earth was by his side, sweetly fidgeting and rambling about happenings and his family to Thorin as if the dwarrow-fin had not frightfully bullied him the week before.

While Lord Gori was busy boring everyone to death with his prolonged descriptions of the hidden gold mine, to which everyone was attuned to at first, the Sea King was gently nudged by Balin. Glancing at his kin out of the corner of his eye, Thorin watched as Balin signed rebelliously under the table, _four more days_.

And Thorin almost sighed tiredly out loud, because _Mahal wept_, four days was a long time in his books.

**A/N:**

**_Thanks for reading! Reviews are appreciated._  
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**Khuzdul Translations:**

**Hakhakh: Dog of (all) dogs**

**Nadad: Brother**


	4. Chapter 4

_**Chapter Four: Allergic to Gossip**_

Drogo, the young lad he was, had been rocking impatiently in Bilbo's kitchen chair for a good part of the morning. The elder hobbit was not one to kick out guests as he was very hospitable and always respectable, but Drogo's reluctance to share his inner turmoil made Bilbo agitation and irritation swell as the minutes ticked by.

"We shall be here all day if you continue to say nothing, Drogo." Bilbo pointed out with a raised eyebrow, his face taut.

Shifting his hands in his lap, Drogo sighed wistfully and it was then and there that Bilbo knew what had gotten his cousin in a special sort: Primula Brandybuck, of course. "Forgive me, Cousin Bilbo, it is just that I am not sure whether or not I should court the fine Brandybuck lass up the road, you know-"

"I know. Everybody knows, Drogo." Bilbo replied back in exasperation, honestly, he had not even eaten breakfast and being without food always made him grouchy. " Surely you can't be that much of a blockhead to not realize that she returns your feelings? For Yavanna's sake, Drogo! She practically proposed to you in the middle of the market square with that bouquet of flowers she handed off to you that was supposedly for your mother!"

"But it _was_ for my mother, not for me." Drogo snapped back, wringing his hands together in anxiety. "And anyways, what could she see in a prudish old Baggins like me?"

"I shall have you know that I am a Baggins as well, despite my half Tookish heritage, so I do not appreciate your innocent slandering of _our_ name." Bilbo snipped and brought his chilled hands around the warm teacup. "Buck up, Drogo! Remember, Primula is a Brandybuck," He said with a little prejudice and distaste that Bilbo could not stop. "That means you've got to step up to the plate and make your feelings known or she'll do it for you."

The young hobbit made a thoughtful face before it turned pained. "I suppose you are right, Cousin Bilbo. Thank you for your wise words." He said forlornly and Bilbo rolled his eyes as respectably as he could for now Drogo was just playing posh and dramatics.

"Those words were not born out of wisdom but common sense, lad. It would do you good to rekindle the common sense I know Grandma Baggins taught you. " Bilbo looked pointedly at Drogo and tapped the rim of his teacup. "For example, you were not using common sense when you came to talk to me, a certified bachelor of forty-one, for relationship advice."

Drogo glanced at the kitchen table before looking up at his older cousin with a sheepish expression. "I did not think of that," He chuckled lightly before setting his gaze upon the glowing kitchen window. "But the reason I came to talk to you was because I knew that you would understand my love the most, for the Baggins' are not known for their openness nor acceptance of anyone but themselves."

With a pleased but startled expression at the frank admission, Bilbo hummed. "Well, my boy, it seems Grandma Baggins did you well after all."

Drogo laughed and took a comfortable sip of his tea, a resolve alight in his eyes that made Bilbo nothing but proud. There was a reason Drogo was by far his favorite Baggins outside of his immediate, dead, family. The two cousins sat in silence for the longest time, Bilbo's tea losing its fire and flavor as Drogo awkwardly sipped at his. It was times like these that Bilbo cursed his prideful nature for he would never let a guest leave unless they were properly seen to, Around the one hour mark, Drogo's eyebrows suddenly lifted and a small smile ghosted his lips.

"How are your fishing trips?" He asked, curiosity coloring his voice as he motioned towards Delilah's glossy frame. "I see you got your old rod polished up. It looks brand new!"

Bilbo flushed; Drogo was absolutely right. Thorin, his new companion dwarrow-fin, had truly done a marvelous job at sprucing up Delilah. Bilbo had not realized the extent to the sea dwarrow's skill until he set Delilah down in a particularly sunny spot in his hall. The rod had glimmered red and tan, and Bilbo had stood in silent appreciation for a moment or two before he pattered away hurriedly, a knot building in his stomach that he wasn't able to undo until he calmed down.

"Yes, my friend, Th-Tho_mas_, did it for me." Bilbo stuttered out, mentally berating himself for lying but it wasn't as if he could just come out and say the truth. "Thomas was a dwarf that I met in in Bree a while back." Bilbo explained at Drogo's perplexed frown. "He is very kind and has quite the head of hair."

Drogo started at the confession and a nervous twitch came across his eye. "A dwarf?" He exclaimed disbelievingly. "You actually spoke with a dwarf? I heard that they were brutish and uncultured!"

"Watch your tongue," Bilbo shot back, a disapproving finger pointed at Drogo with vigor. "Don't you ever speak of my friend and his people that way when you yourself have never even laid eyes upon a dwarf! Do not shame your mother and your family by acting insolent and ignorant." His voice was unusually loud and in that moment, Bilbo vaguely wondered when he had gotten so protective of Thorin's honor. That was a thought to mull over later.

Appearing properly chastised and incredibly remorseful. Drogo fiddled with the slim handle of his teacup. "I-I did not mean to insult your dwarven friend and his people." Drogo quietly replied with a kicked expression.

Nodding once, Bilbo set a sharp eye on his cousin. "As long as you realize your faults, Cousin."

"Of course, Cousin Bilbo." Drogo smiled at him strangely. "I would have never guessed you to hold so much love for a dwarf." Bilbo startled at his cousin's words as the younger got up from the table. Standing up, Drogo gently took one last sip of his tea before giving his cousin a customary bow. "I shall see you some other day in the near future, Bilbo."

Bilbo gave a dip of his own head and smiled kindly at his cousin. "Let me get the door for you," He said whilst getting up and padding over to the entrance. "And best of luck to you and Primula!"

Drogo's cheeks flooded red and he chuckled nervously as he said his own goodbye, hurrying out of Bag-End with shoulders tightly drawn and steps unsure. Bilbo was positive that it would be Primula who asked Drogo first for the young lass was quite the character, but it didn't hurt to egg Drogo on.

As he watched his cousin flounce away, Bilbo huffed good-naturedly and closed the door with a careful hand, His thoughts wandered as he set the dirty teacups in the kitchen sink and as his gaze was eventually stolen by the lush, green fields outside. Bilbo loved the Shire and that was a cold, hard fact; but he couldn't help but feel a little lonely, being so far yet so close to the Channel.

Wringing his towel as he dried a few lone dishes that had been set aside, Bilbo tapped his foot impatiently. It had been a long week, that was for sure, and he could not quell the butterflies wreaking havoc on his nerves. It was a Friday and there was much to be done, or in other words: landlord duties to fulfill. Bilbo held great distaste for having to travel to his cousin's house every week in order to collect their rent but such was the torture of being a landlord _and_ apart of a rather unique and pompously posh family.

"Bugger it," He muttered, shuffling on his burgundy coat and fixing the curls on his head and feet. "Might as well get this nasty business over with," He mumbled as he headed out the door.

As if collecting money from family was not bad enough, Bilbo was expected to sit and converse for unknown periods of time as well.

It was as he reached Otho and Lobelia's smial, after a particularly challenging reunion with his cousins: Linda and Gertrude, that Bilbo's tired smile wiped off with fluttering sigh. He was reaching the limit to how many of his hobbit relatives, his _only_ relatives, he could handle and there was nobody in existence that could handle Lobelia Sackville-Baggins; if there was, Bilbo would personally hire them to be his secretary and quite frankly bestow upon them an award for being the most virtuous person quite possibly on the planet.

Asking for rent from Lobelia and her husband required a certain amount of wit, tact, and diplomacy. That was why Bilbo left before his knuckles came to knock at the door, he simply was not in the mood. Concluding that it would be best if he just got his cousin Dudo, with his charming ways, on the job, Bilbo hurriedly made his way to his own smial, leftover cherry tarts from his aunt Daisy in hand and a very relived hop to his step.

His neighbors on the south side, judgmental folk who turned their nose up at the slightest abnormality, eyed him with a peculiar frown marring their faces. Bilbo startled a little at the new attention and continued on his way, feeling a little unnerved and slightly defensive. It was not until Jethro Whitfoot, one of the prominent pastry vendors in the Shire, came up to him, arm resting upon the smooth surface of his gate.

"How have you been faring, Mister Baggins?" He asked and Bilbo stopped in his tracks, suspicion (his father would be appalled, Belladonna not so much) lurking in his gaze.

Bilbo hesitated before walking up the gate. "I have been faring as well as the next hobbit, Mister Whitfoot." He replied amiably, hoping his tone did not portray his wariness. It was a seldom occurrence that a Whitfoot talked to a Baggins.

"Hmm," A mistrustful look was sent his way and suddenly his coat felt to tight. "There have been rumors, Mister Baggins," The hobbit began slowly. "That you have been spending an improper amount of time down at that channel these days." Jethro observed with a sniff at the thought of the unsightly inconsistency. "Some of us have been wondering if you are, perhaps, spending your time there not alone?" He ventured with narrowing eyes and Bilbo froze.

"Why, Mister Whitfoot," Bilbo started with disgust creeping into his tone without preamble. "If I'd known any better I would think you are insulating that, _perhaps_, I am taking part in indecorous activities with an unknown person!"

Jethro did his part, a faux startled gasp and a '_Goodness gracious me!' _and quickly stood straight, garden shovel in a lousy grasp. "I believe your time out there by the channel has been doing you no good whatsoever! What would your poor father think of this behavior if he saw you now?" He cried dramatically and Bilbo felt anger rise up, unmitigated, like bile in his throat.

However, respectability was a huge portion of one's social standing in the Shire and Bilbo had an image to uphold and a certain amount of respect that he had to command as a Baggins and a landlord so, sadly, no wrathful actions came from him that day.

Without another word, Bilbo stalked away, his blood boiling and stomach churning. He was thoroughly done with all of the confounded nosiness of his neighbors and kin. It was absurd, thinking that instead of fishing he was partaking in foolish dalliances with random lads and lasses! What did they think? That he bought the basket of fresh, smelly fish that he usually brought with him home?

With an exasperated cry, Bilbo stomped up the steps to his house and slammed his door as he reentered Bag End. Green eyes dry and stomach still curling in upon itself. Bilbo felt trepid dismay creep and cause aches in his chest. The Shire was entirely susceptible to gossip and no doubt his conversation with Jethro would soon be in the minds of every Chubb to Underhills.

Casting a yearning look to Delilah, Bilbo bit his lip to hold back a sigh, the envelopes of dues and reports crinkling in his grip.

'_One more day,'_ he thought with a small spark of excitement and rebelliousness, not letting Jethro Whitfoot's words stop him from continuing his routine of fishing in the Brandywine. '_One more day, that is all I have to endure before I can fish freely and meet up with Thorin once more.'_

The hobbit silently wondered if Thorin felt the same. Bilbo shyly smiled, he had a feeling the dwarrow-fin did.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN:**_

**guess who's next? Our favorite dwarrow-fin yay. I'm tired of these interludes lol, lets go back to the fluff and build up our happy au's to support us through BOFA. **


	5. Chapter 5

_**Chapter Five: Allergic to Feet**_

"You must press the shell to your ear, Master Baggins." Thorin repeated calmly as the hobbit continued to shuffle around on the land with a particularly dirty seashell he had picked up along the way. "That is the only way that you will hear the ocean." He ended lamely even though the sound of waves lapping and crashing could be heard clearly in the distance.

"I would ask you if this was a joke but it is clearly not." Bilbo hummed and tried not to notice the further deepening of the dwarrow-fin's frown. "Ah," He chuckled weakly when Thorin's tail broke the surface only to quickly duck back down. "This is, uh, lovely, Master Oakenshield." He pressed the shell to the edge of his ear, careful of the uneven edges and hanging seaweed.

The fins on the dwarrow-fin;s neck moved imperceptibly as he reached out a large arm and gently took the seashell back from Bilbo with a strange expression. Bilbo slid back from the water's edge where he had perched himself for the tide was rising ever so slowly as the sun began its trek up into the sky. The hobbit did not think too much about the look upon the dwarrow-fin's face as Thorin's had a knack for rendering him confused, along with features that left him speechless.

"Would you like another shell, then?" Thorin asked him and Bilbo focused on the beautiful locks of blackberry hair swirling in the seawater when the dwarrow-fin's gaze became too piercing.

"I would love to examine another one," Bilbo said hesitantly and watched with amusement and disbelief as Thorin swiftly released his hold upon Bilbo's rock and pushed himself backwards with wild strength. The tendrils of hair moved gracefully, as did Thorin, around the sea dwarf and flowed downwards like a waterfall when Thorin dived under.

Giving a startled laugh, Bilbo ran a hand over his curls and tucked in a few unruly strands behind his ear. His shirt was still damp from when he had practically ran towards the channel, his muscles aching and belly protesting. When Bilbo had finally reached the channel, he came across the realization that perhaps he should double up upon his walks or at least cut back on his excessive consumption of buttered mushrooms and peach pie, if the cramps all over his body were anything to go by.

It was with a light heart that Bilbo had greeted Thorin. Perhaps his welcome was a bit too eager, too sudden, but if it was, Thorin made no mention of it and replied with as much sincerity as he could muster in turn. Warmth, sweet and bubbly, had fizzed in his stomach pleasantly when Thorin had emerged, a scowl on his faces and great bags under his eyes. As the gentlehobbit he was, Bilbo immediately called Thorin out on his wretched state – though he did not use those exact words – and politely began to not badger, but _infer_, about the private dwarrow-fin's occupation. Especially since it looked like whatever job he had down in the depths of the ocean was weighing on him heavily.

Thorin had replied with curt, short sentences that left Bilbo grinding his teeth out of annoyance and grinning out of enjoyment and the prospect of a challenge. It was something he inherited from his Tookish side, the competitiveness, but the stubbornness was all the Baggins, Bilbo had explained when Thorin had gruffly pointed out that Bilbo had not stopped 'pestering' him in a whole hour. Thorin had expressed bemusement, if the sparkle in his eyes was anything to go by, and perturbation at the enlightenment and asked Bilbo what a Baggins was.

"It is a name of a hobbit clan, _my_ family name. Just as Took, Chubb, Buldger, Whitfoot, Underhill, Gamgee, Brandybuck," Bilbo had sighed and smiled at Thorin who looked utterly perplexed and appeared as if he wanted to ask more. When he didn't however, Bilbo began talking again. "The names go on; there are an abundance of hobbit families and, well, hobbits themselves in the Shire."

"Is there?" Thorin had looked surprised and Bilbo unconsciously scooted back as the dwarrow-fin leaned more upon the rock, his hair getting pulled to the side by the swift current and a peek of his fins showing. Bilbo felt a pang of guilt sneak up when Thorin calmly observed the action and immediately slunk back. "I see you do not have the problem that my people face." Thorin had noted with a grave voice.

Bilbo had felt distressed at Thorin's tone and forced his eyes to line up with the dwarrow-fin's own, an act that required nerves of steel and a backbone equivalent to that of Grandma Baggins'.

"And what is this problem, if you do not mind me asking, Master Oakenshield?" Bilbo had ventured and silently cast his eyes to the floating hair below, the hair on his head per se, not that thick, coarse hair that trailed down, down, down until it reached the dark blueberry skin of Thorin's tail.

Flushing greatly out of shame and no small amount of horror at his thoughts, Bilbo tried his best to keep a straight face as Thorin took a long inhale of breath and clenched his fists. Oh dear, Bilbo had thought with worry, hopefully it is not too bad. "We dwarrow-fins face an inconsistency in female to male ratios and extremely low birth rates." Thorin had informed with a somber, sullen look on his face. "While it is not as severe as the Sirens' rates, it is much more worse than the Merman's by a landslide."

"What?" Bilbo had breathed out, his mind not being able to fathom only a handful of young fauntlings running and screeching around the Shire. The image was too lonely and disheartening to imagine. "How dire is this problem, Master Oakenshield?" He questioned with concern and Thorin looked up at him with wide eyes.

"Oh fear not, Master Baggins," He had started, "We had a two births not but five weeks ago, the first in four years!" He had announced proudly but Bilbo did not help but feel saddened by such a proclamation. "And even though the females only count up to one-third of our population, my people were meant to endure."

Thorin had spoken the last sentence with utter surety and pride that Bilbo had not been able to do anything but give the dwarrow-fin a toothy smile in return. "Well, that is a relief to hear." He had admitted. "Now," Bilbo had grabbed the edges of his picnic basket and brought out his second breakfast. "I shall introduce you to my famous cinnamon sugar cookies."

Jumping out of his reverie when Thorin emerged, a fish out of water, Bilbo laughed internally, and mindlessly sucked in a breath, his toes curling as a silken weed shyly trailed along the digits.

"Here," Thorin handed him a larger shell fit with ribbons of pale orange and pink, Conch, Bilbo remembered from his mother's seaside explorations and lessons. The opening was a fleshly white and Bilbo was gentle and curious to see whether or not a lonely sea creature inhabited the shell. "No worries, Master Baggins." Thorin chimed in lowly. "I already checked for any living tenants of the shell." He assured with an unwavering gaze and Bilbo huffed a slight laugh at the sincerity of it all. "It is a great disservice to take one's home away from them."

The absence of levity and the sheer seriousness made Bilbo stutter in his actions of tenderly petting the Conch shell. Hobbits rarely spoke of things with such gravity and weightiness behind the words, a subtle yet heavy implication. The words passed between them were full of flippancy, guile, laughter, and on the occasion, soberness.

"You speak as if you have first-handedly experienced such a horrendous slight, Master Oakenshield." Bilbo speculated with furrowed eyebrows. "If such a thing is true, you have my condolences, that is if you want them."

A thin smile weaved its way onto Thorin's lips and Bilbo felt his taut shoulders loosen in their apprehension. "No, Master Baggins," Thorin shook his head lightly and Bilbo offhandedly realized that instead of pearls, Thorin's hair was lavished in golden chains and a gem incrusted clip that kept the lengthy mass upon his head out of his face. "The Maker has spared me from such a merciless act thankfully. I fear that my people would not be able to _fully_ recover from such an onslaught, but recover we shall."

The hobbit watched as Thorin's shoulders broaden as the dwarrow-fin straightened his spine, how his eyes hardened over with a passionate frosty fire, and how his voice carried with clarity and authority. '_Ah, this is no commoner,'_ Bilbo deduced, '_He is of noble blood, that I am positive of.'_

However, the hobbit would not tell Thorin that he had figured out the dwarrow-fin's game so soon, that would be a loss of entertainment and enjoyment on his behalf and a blow to Thorin's pride, which if Bilbo had a say, was too large for one dwarrow-fin to harbor.

"That is good to hear," Bilbo said, consoled and watched as the water lapped around Thorin's sides when the dwarrow-fin readjusted himself on the rock, a look of well-hidden discomfort flashing in his eyes in a quick moment. "Are you alright?" He inquired, his stomach giving a pang of disquiet nature.

Thorin however, did not look pained or in any sort of agony, only sheepish and abashed. "I have never rested upon a dry rock for as long as I have on this pleasant day. My skin has not been able to adapt to being exposed to wind and direct sun for long periods of time." He raised his eyebrows, indiscernible beguilement. "Tis nothing to worry about, Master Baggins, it is only a small trifle that I will soon get over.

Bilbo on the other hand was quite ashamed that he had not noticed Thorin's discomposure. How could he forget? Thorin was not a hobbit, nor man, nor elf. He was of the sea and the people of the sea must stay in the blankets of blue depths and soft white foam for that was their home.

"Still," His feet kicked back and forth underwater. "So," He trailed off, unsure how to continue and the feeling was reciprocated as he watched the dwarrow-fin next to him twitch silently, tail fluttering back and forth in the awkward silence. "Well, I-"

"If you do not mind me being so forward, I would ask for your permission to… touch your feet." Thorin suddenly asked and Bilbo hurriedly tucked his toes into the slime wall of the rock under the water.

"Goodness," Bilbo exclaimed, surprised by the sudden request. "I am not sure what dwarrow-fin culture is like but in hobbit culture, you do not ask to touch someone's feet unless you are married!" His cheeks flamed like ripe red apples and Bilbo suddenly had the urge to hide his face.

The reaction was immediate. Thorin's hands flew up in a placating manner as he tried to regain his regal manner and recover from the embarrassing misconception. "Master Baggins." He said quickly but steadily and with a confidence Bilbo could only manage after a good cup of tea. "My intentions were innocent but my question was presumptuous and full of ignorance. You see, I have only fins and was curious as to what hobbit feet felt like and-"

Feeling slightly concerned at the beet red flush that was sporting on Thorin's cheeks and ears as he kept rambling with an imperial air - '_Certainly a noble,' _Bilbo huffed - Bilbo felt a tad bad for overreacting as such; honestly, it was not as if Thorin could have known, he had no feet in the first place!

Silently, Bilbo scooted over to the very edge of his rock, the water a murky blue as the sandbar ended and the trench began. "Now see here, Master Oakenshield. It is I who should be sorry for I acted improper when I _over_reacted." He wiggled his toes under the water and watched, flustered and highly entertained, as Thorin's gaze immediately zoned in on his toes, which curled in under observation. "You may touch," He mumbled quietly and squawked out loud when a calloused hand practically enveloped his foot.

Thorin was quiet as he examined Bilbo's foot and Bilbo was horrified. He tried not to think about how even his mother would most likely smack him with her frying pan if she could see him now. The whole act was the very quintessence of impropriety! Letting one touch a hobbit's feet was the height of intimacy and goodness gracious why did he ever agree to this?

Unbeknownst to Bilbo's inner turmoil, Thorin continued mapping the foot with unadulterated curiosity. The king tried not to linger to long in the crevices of Bilbo's toes but it was becoming harder and harder to do. A king playing with a hobbit's feet! Pah! His father would certainly be un-amused to put it lightly. Strange and unusual was the differentiating anatomy of the hobbit but it was captivating to explore. He was fascinated at how the toes could move, how they could curl, like ten tiny, bloated fins; and the thick curls atop of Bilbo's feet were an absolute wonder. How could he even grow hair on his feet?

"_Hm_," He grumbled in contemplation and without further ado, scratched the underside of the foot, where the skin was not as soft but calloused greatly, like Dwalin's tail.

Thorin, in his musing and inward insulting of his best confident and friend, did not foresee the lax limb he was examining to shoot up and collide with his face. Unfortunately, Thorin was too close to swiftly grab the offending foot and his reflexes were much slower than when he was in his natural habitat so the dastardly foot struck him right underneath the chin.

Bilbo, the deceiving little bastard, had him fooled with his frail frame so unlike any of his kin and even more fragile looking than the Sirens. The King Under the Mountain had no idea of the sheer power of a hobbit foot and if the white hot sparks of pain were anything to go by, that was a power not to be undermined.

His sides of his tongue throbbed in pain, having been clamped on brutally by his teeth when his jaw was thrown upward by the blow, and without ado, Thorin spit out the lingering blood in his mouth upon the edge of the rock, feeling his mouth flood with more spit and blood in return.

"Oh sweet Eru, _Thorin_! Why did you do that?" Bilbo cried and as much as Thorin found himself liking how his name curled off the halfling's tongue, he could not help but feel indignant and sour for it was he who truly was the victim here. "Oh look at you," Thorin felt two dry hands gently cup the sides of his face. "Yavanna, I am _so sorry_! I would have warned you if I knew you were going to tickle my feet!"

Thorin rumbled a response, not trusting his voice as his tongue was still pulsating with pain and probably puffed up, an angry red. _Just do not do it again_. His eyes seemed to say and Bilbo hurriedly nodded, noticing the bloodied spit on the side of his rock and on the corner of Thorin's mouth.

"Just let me get you…" He trailed off not knowing how to fix he mess he made and in the end began pushing Thorin's head down, trying to get the dwarrow-fin to submerge under the water. "Go on, saltwater helps the healing process and I am sure since you are a creature of the sea, the aid will be bolstered!" He offered with nervous amiableness.

The dwarrow-fin's face stayed in his weak grasp and Bilbo tried not to fidget under the cold glare that Thorin was giving him. "Please?" He asked and watched as Thorin nodded once before eerily sinking down into the water with such a speed that Bilbo yelped.

It was silent, save for Bilbo's heavy breathing borne out of panic and mortification, and the hobbit watched as the ripples soon faded into nothing as the water became calm once more in Thorin's absence. The dwarrow-fin must have been down in the water for a good two minutes, leaving Bilbo to cringe and groan quietly to himself about the whole mess, before Thorin broke the surface once more, a pacifying look on his face.

He tilted his head to the side and very discreetly glared at Bilbo's rebellious foot. "We m'st stap…apahogizing to…each oth'r." He said, his voice awkward and hindered due to the enflamed state of his tongue.

Bilbo tried his damnedest to hide the smile that was threatening to break through at the out of character voice. "I wholeheartedly agree, Master Oakenshield." He looked at Thorin's mouth in a fastidious manner, not trying to focus on the reddened lips more so than the faint trail of blood leaking out from the side of his mouth. "I am sor-"

Thorin chuckled, a deep purr that emitted from his chest, interrupting Bilbo. "We thall… ork on… that." He said with a color of mirth, voice stunted.

"We shall," Bilbo gave his own shot of light laughter and patted the free space of rock next to him. "But for now, rest a little please. It will set my nerves at ease."

"I am a… dwarrow-fin, thiz… is hardly a scrath."

"I insist, Master Oakenshield."

"Asth… do I, Masta Baggins, my body… can withstand injuries twenty times… as bath as this one, if a wounded…tongue could qualify…as a 'ound."

"How stubborn you are!" Bilbo griped and scowled tartly at the stalwart lord of a dwarrow-fin. "Well fine, since you are being uncooperative, I shall have to just come out and say it." Bilbo growled, not caring for the obstinacy and not daring to tell Thorin that he might have found said attribute more than a little attractive and all shades of infuriating.

Thorin scoffed and Bilbo crossed his arms, happy to have the upper hand. "You are of noble blood, 'blue-blood', whatever you want to call it." At that, Thorin yanked his head upwards from where he had been watching Bilbo's feet once more; surprise and a small amount of irritation prevalent in his fiery eyes. "You are a lord, as I can surmise from your bearing and high level of diction; furthermore, you are not just any lord, possibly in the higher ranks of whatever underwater kingdom you reside in. And while I have not figured out your exact occupation, I have figured out your social status _and_ narrowed down the choices." Bilbo declared, pride and haughtiness alight in his tone.

Resolutely casting aside the sparks of heat that ran along his spine, leaving his muscles trembling in their wake, Thorin merely growled, the sound low and rough. "Masta Baggins, you…are 'ery intuitive." He announced, watching the snooty smile turn bashful on the hobbit's lips. "And…right." He hesitated, not one to admit to his own failings to a near stranger.

Even though, Thorin felt more at ease with Bilbo than he had in a long time, especially with new acquaintances, and very rarely did he make actual _friends_. It was wrong to label Bilbo as a 'stranger' for if Thorin saw him one day out of the blue, there was no doubt in his mind that he would recall the face and the name that belonged to it. Then there was the genuine concern that Bilbo had showed for him over such a trivial matter…

_'No'_, Thorin thought preserved glee, _'we are... friends.'_

And there was not much that Thorin could do to change that.

* * *

><p>"Speak for me, my king. Let loose a mighty roar to encase fear into the hearts of your enemies, majestic King Thorin II Oakenshield. Don't be afraid, yer royal tartness, I cannae fathom you bei-"<p>

"Shuth…up!" Thorin roared, his tongue more bloated than before as Dwalin's taunts had made him grind his teeth together in restrained anger.

From his right side, Dwalin hooted with laughter, his tail rocking back in forth as his torso leaned forward. Bubbles were leaking out of his eyes as the hilarity of Thorin's awkward voice and situation were supposedly too much for the hardened, old warrior to bear.

"You're lucky your beard will hide the bruise," Dwalin panted between bouts of heavy laughter. "I just- I can't. Thorin, speak again!" He bellowed with merriment, not stopping even when Balin, Oín, and Dís came in wearing faces of mild distress and humor.

"Brother," Dís started, her tail swishing protectively and Thorin loathed the question that was to come next. "Is he…? Is he abusing you?" She questioned with her face pinched and fins curled back in anger as she took in the furious patch of red blooming around Thorin's chin, mostly hidden by his beard, and the bloodied state of his teeth and tongue as he had not stopped biting and grinding in his anger.

Thorin choked around the wooden stick that Oín had unceremoniously shoved into his mouth without any warning – Thorin was possibly one of the worst patients Oín had the displeasure of taking care of – and began coughing as he swallowed his own spit.

On the other side of the room, Dwalin had all but fallen off of his rock and was pounding his fist on the luxuriously carpeted sea floor.

"No, nawt… jus' _no_, " He managed out and watched as a hand flew to Dís's mouth as an unbidden smile formed on her lips.

"Oh Mahal," She stuttered out, body quaking with laughter. "I cannot… my stern, king of a brother." She waved a hand in the air uselessly and swam over to join that bald ugly blighter in his bullying club.

It was Balin who kept a straight face even though Thorin could tell that the sneaky dwarrow-fin had been silently chuckling to himself in the background. "You tried to touch his feet, did you not?" His well-read cousin asked him with a knowing eye and Thorin wondered why Balin even bothered asking at all if he knew he was going to be right.

Probably for the self-satisfaction, Thorin sneered internally and opted to glare at Balin balefully as, after Dís's reaction, he was not risking embarrassing himself any more.

"Do nawt…let Kíli…an' Fíli in her'." Thorin grit out and watched with a calm anger as his first and foremost advisor succumbed to the unruly chuckles floating around the room.

Traitors, the lot of them; at least he knew Bilbo was a true friend for he had not even laughed once. '_Aye, a true friend,' _He thought as he glared at Dwalin and Dís.

Thorin rather liked the sound of that.

_**A/N:**_

**Not read over so mistakes are a guarantee and probably plentiful.**

**Thank you all for sticking with me, hopefully I will not take too long to update for the next chapter!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six: _Allergic to Death_**

"I am becoming worried about you, Cousin Bilbo." Drogo stepped out of Bilbo's pathway as his cousin stormed past, fishing rod in hand and straw hat yanked over his brow. "Now," The younger hobbit started. "I know you probably have heard a lot of biased nonsense from the Whitfoots and Lobelia so-"

"Then, Drogo, why do you not keep your wandering thoughts to yourself?" Bilbo snapped back, his mood ornery from a particularly nasty jab delivered by Lobelia that same morn – foul woman she was. "Remember what I said about common sense?"

He looked back at the anxious hobbit wringing his handkerchief with a small amount of pity. "Cousin, you mean well, that I am sure of, but you must understand that sometimes words are not needed, only support and acceptance."

Drogo nodded once, his eyes wide in frozen contemplation. Bilbo thought such a look made his younger cousin look impossibly green and small. "Y-yes, of course."

"Good," Bilbo replied curtly before turning around once more to continue his walk to the channel. Hesitantly, he stopped and glanced back at his cousin only to give a kind wave. "Have a good day, Drogo, lad!"

Bilbo's cousin gave a crooked smile, spirits lifted. "Thank you, Bilbo!" He called back, his hand in the air waving gleefully, and Bilbo watched as something sparked in the lad's eyes and as Drogo's smile grew something sly. "Primula says 'hi!' as well!"

Giving a light chuckle, Bilbo shook his head, continuing his walk and steadfastly ignoring the strange stares and whispers floating above his head as he strode past filled smials and tea parties. '_Looks like Primula finally got tired of waiting.'_ Bilbo thought amusedly and huffed in contempt as his foot was caught upon a gnarl of root.

"Ouch," Bilbo muttered and slowly withdrew his toes from under the root they had been snagged on. "That's going to get infected quickly," he tsked in disappoint and made it one of his tasks to dip his feet in the water when he reached the channel.

To add to his sour mood, now Bilbo was sporting a throbbing big toe and a thunderous anger brought on by loose, wagging tongues and inclement rumors about the happenings at the channel. Honestly, Bilbo was much too mannerly and proper – _respectful_ – to even think of sneaking away and tumbling around with a lass, or like Fran Bolger liked to say, _lad_.

He would applaud old Fran, for being more insightful than most, but he could not even begin to fathom how such indecent rumors could have begun. His weekly walks to the Brandywine Channel had been consistent and scheduled, it was hardly unusual or out of the norm! Surely, this was just a collective outbreak of boredom that seemed to have swept over the Shire – that was the only plausible explanation. It was not as if Bilbo was coming back to his house with his shirt unbuttoned or trousers crumpled! Goodness gracious, the shame!

Resolving to not look too much into the Shire's deadly magnetism for blowing things out of proportion for the sake of their own amusement, Bilbo cleared the forest passage and stepped onto the sandy shore of the Brandywine Channel. Wet sand did wonders for calming angry red toes and Bilbo silently thanked nature for its helping hand.

Giving the shoreline a quick glance-over, Bilbo sighed for it seemed that he had beaten his companion today and would have to exercise his Baggins born patience that his mother never exhibited. Thorin either came early or extremely late, he was never on time and Bilbo suspected that had to do with different time zones or the currents. The one and only time that the hobbit had ever brought Thorin's strange inconsistency up, the dwarrow-fin had underhandedly apologized in that quiet way of his profusely and by catching Bilbo at least twenty-one trout that the hobbit had gladly heaved back home. The next day, the gentlehobbit made sure all could see his productivity and its result: multiple fish pies and baked trout that he gladly gave away at the market.

He had wanted to bring Thorin some pies but seeing that fish only stayed good for about two days maximum, Bilbo gave up trying to salvage his trout and just headed down to the market to buy fresh ones. Cue a passionate five hours baking in the kitchen, from noon till evening; Bilbo had been quite exhausted by the end of it all but had succeeded in baking two-dozen crispy, flaky trout pies that looked entirely delectable. While he had set aside two for him and four for Thorin, seeing as the dwarrow-fin was quite large in the height and muscle range, Bilbo desperately hoped that a sea creature's palate was not too different from a land walker's.

Speaking of palates and pies, Bilbo sucked in a breath as he waddled to his rock. It was silly of him not to eat something before he came to the channel but anger is often vicious and domineering and it simply got the best of him. With his empty stomach causing nausea and nasty aches in his head and belly, Bilbo swiftly unwrapped a pie and slowly bit into it, relishing every bite and physically feeling his head and bellyache being chased away.

Humming contently, Bilbo polished off the pie in a matter of minutes, thankful that his mother nor companion was not around to see him shoveling his face with food. Well, hopefully Thorin would not be too late for, even if the dwarrow-fin could not digest cooked fish, the fish pies would get overheated and pasty.

Fixing Delilah up to hopefully score some more trout or, if he was lucky, sea bass, Bilbo expertly cast the line out. He watched the transparent, thin material curve and sway before gently plopping down in some unknown spot, dark and murky, of the channel. It was a good cast and Bilbo had high hopes that he would score at least a six or seven pounder, a hefty load home if he caught three or four. The bob dunk up and down as calm waves tenderly pushed past and Bilbo found himself waiting in anticipation for a bite. With his hunger satiated and an especially juicy, fat worm on the hook, there was sure to be a good bite that day.

The minutes past and Bilbo's hopes soon began to dwindle at the prospect of a hearty catch when there was not so much as a tug from the devious weeds growing underwater on his hook. Reeling back in a line meant failure, something Bilbo was accustomed to in small doses just as everyone was, – he was afraid that the overbearing proudness and pride from _both_ of his families got to him sometimes – but not all of the time, thank you.

His hand was centimeters away from tugging the reel back so as to bring in the line when the first tug happened. An unbidden smile plastered itself on his face and silently, with as little movements as possible, Bilbo braced himself for a second, and a second came. It was a much more legitimate tug than the first, definitely a fish meaning business, and Bilbo nearly laughed aloud.

However, when the third tug came, it brought with it such strength that Bilbo was instantly thrown into the water, his hat flying off and his feet knocking that basket of fish pies into the water. Instantly, Bilbo shut his eyes against the horrendous sting of salt water and flailed his arms around wildly in hopes of reaching the surface by chance. He could not swim for it was not physically possible due to his dense bone structure unless he had some sort of floatation device or whatnot.

Terror filled Bilbo's mind and stomach as his heart pumped with dread. He could feel himself sinking as his mouth flew open, unable to withstand the natural instinct to breathe and gulped down _anything_. Salt water filled his belly and it was then that he dared to open his eyes once more. Surely, he could be able to see what sort of monstrous fish could drag him in with just a brutish tug before he died. In the back of his mind, there was a nasty nagging notion: what if it was Thorin? What if this whole time had been a ploy in order to trap Bilbo and kill him? Perhaps he should be thoroughly disgusted with himself for thinking such horrific things about such a kind and hardheaded creature.

With no help coming from his rambling thoughts, Bilbo frantically threw his legs and arms around, getting no leverage as all that moving seemed to achieve was to tire him out. Oh, and there it was, the blackness that was slowly blocking his sight; horrid black spots signifying only one thing: death.

Bilbo was most certainly not ready to die, mind you, and the hobbit valiantly tried one last time to swim towards the ever-darkening surface only to fail. In what he presumed where his final moments, in the seaweed and coral ridden land of the bottom of the channel, Bilbo tried and failed to ignore the searing burning of his lungs. He could not even begin to describe how awful such a feeling was, drowning in an isolated channel with only the scorn and disapproval of his neighbors, acquaintances, and family to help save him.

Not much to go by, if he had to say anything about it.

Dying, it seemed, was a tedious and antagonizing affair when drowning. A couple seconds felt like hours of being robbed of sweet air and having burning fire poured down one's throat. When Bilbo finally closed his eyes for the last time, he very vaguely registered his body being moved – the current perhaps – and could not think anything of it because soon, everything blacked out.

* * *

><p>"Bilbo?" Thorin yelled at the unmoving figure. He had come too late, had taken too long fighting off the sea Orcs that had attempted to prey upon Bilbo and his punishment was losing his newest and, by far, kindest friend. "Bilbo, come on!" He practically threw the ghostly pale body on what Thorin knew was the hobbit's favorite spot cursing and blaming himself for the events transpired for there was only one reason the Orcs would take interest in Bilbo, and that was him.<p>

Bilbo's skin was so white it appeared translucent. His veins, losing the life they held with every passing moment, were protruding disturbingly from his purple tinted neck. His lips were lifeless and blue; a testimony to how fast the body loses heat when it has lost its energy to live. The dwarrow-fin held back a mournful sigh when he tried to cast a few recovery spells to bring his friend back but none worked.

Thorin could not save Bilbo, for he did not know how. He had seen landlubbers drown before, a few times he aided in their death when their fishing instruments and intentions became too violent and one of his subjects got pierced, fatal or not, by an ugly harpoon. But what the king had never done was _save_ an earth walker's life. What he could do was tag down a heartbeat and what an utterly faint heartbeat it was.

Out of an act of desperation and selfishness for Thorin knew that he could never live with the guilt of having inadvertedly killed his friend, He whipped out Orcrist from behind his back and hastily cut into his palm until gushes of dark red blood flowed out. Hearing the blood flood down and splatter on the rock, Thorin speedily dragged the hurt palm over the hobbit's face, chanting forbidden ancient words that had been only known to those of great royalty and blessedness.

The Sea King Under the Mountain observed with eerie silence as the blood sparkled gold instead of red, the magic infusing with the natural state and making it color unnaturally. When the short window to cast the transformation spell made itself known, Thorin swiftly drew a dozen or so runes on the hobbits soggy, cold feet, forehead, neck, lips, and belly. He did not wait for the tell tale glow of a soul shift but instead, Thorin sheathed Orcrist and scooped up the unmoving body, diving down into the channel and bypassing the filmy clouds of red leaking from the torsos and faces of the four dead sea Orcs.

He would have to take Bilbo to the Starlight Pools in Erebor if there was to be a chance for revitalization or the success of the spell. There was no time to waste and Thorin thanked Mahal above for him having an anxiety attack and purposefully distracting Dwalin with hunting some sharks in order to speed ahead. Thorin barely saw the landscape around him transform as the two beings reached the end of the sand bar and into the deep ocean. Not even blinking at the shocking temperature change from warm to chillingly cold, Thorin swam harder, the muscles in his tail flexing and bulging against the royal blue scales.

The green air shield around Bilbo's face was a precaution that Thorin felt more comfortable taking than not. If the spell was truly working, Bilbo would be growing whatever color fins by now and even though water was the more preferred substance for breathing, land air was acceptable. Even with the thought that if Bilbo happened to awaken, he would be safe either way, Thorin could not forget that the hobbit had inhaled a fatal amount of water and that even though due to the spell copious amounts of water was leaking out of the most unfortunate places, Thorin was not comforted.

Faster he swam and soon, the telltale hill decorated with lone crabs and coves came into the king's sight and his military commander soon appeared, no longer a dot on the horizon.

"Thorin, look a' it!" Thorin could make out a huge white blob next to the swishing red tail. "Oh, and yer flouncy sack of-"

"Dwalin!" The king grabbed the arm of his comrade without breaking speed and violently yanked him along, careful of the dying hobbit in his grasp.

Without a single word, Dwalin tugged his arm out from Thorin's grip and began to swam as vigorously as his friend, shock and undisguised curiosity were plastered all over his face. If it were any other time, any other place, Thorin would have guffawed with laughter at the comical sight. Sadly, it was not and without further ado, he picked up the pace.

"Thorin, is that who I think it is and are those marks…?" Dwalin ventured cautiously, his eyes wide and mouth in a grim line. "You may be king but, Thorin, this is _illegal_. You could be tried fer _treason_ if the council even laid eyes upon these markings." The kingsguard growled with harsh severity and fear.

Ignoring his friend's rare show of sense, Thorin merely scoffed and ducked down into a mass of sea grass. "Dwalin, do me a favor and kindly shut up." The king snarled as he tore through the grass—the plants pushed to the side and flattened for a few seconds as the dwarrow-fins barreled into the hidden trench. Thorin motioned for Dwalin to follow him with a silent motion of his tail fin and the kingsguard grit his teeth in anger but followed nevertheless.

"Thorin, you cannae be going towards where I think yer going." Dwalin hissed even though he kept stealing furtive glances at the glowing hobbit in his king's arm. "You would be committing one of the most grievous crimes_, _Thorin, if you take that land walker into the Starlight Pools. Those are sacred to our kind, Mahal, _where_ is your sense!"

"It was my fault he almost died and now it is my duty to bring him back." Thorin nearly roared, his voice – thankfully – muted by the small sand tunnel they were currently traveling through. "Those sea Orcs preyed on him with the intent to kill because of _me_, Dwalin." He shook his head and gave a morose sigh. "Bilbo did not – does not – deserve to die this way." He lifted Bilbo's body for a second to prove his point. The air bubble was nearly filled to the brim with water, the water level sloshing from mid neck to just under his nose. His skin was glowing golden due to the effects of the spell but the skin was still unhealthily pale – it was as if it had been touched by death itself.

His commander peered at him with narrowed eyes as they passed through the first secret stone door leading into a closed off section of Erebor. "You were attacked by sea Orcs?"

"Focus," Thorin grunted as he shouldered another door open, the flesh on his bare shoulder scraping off as he roughly pushed the entryway open.

Darkness met the two and Thorin prayed that it wasn't close to evening time. He had a limited window when he could go visit Bilbo and if he were even one second late, Dís and Balin would never let him hear the end of it; neither would the council for that matter.

The pair quickly swam through the maze of cracked marble pillars and abandoned homes that had been deemed unfit for living after a geyser erupted in one of the diamond mines, completely ruining the foundations under the small section of the South Wing. It was a short travel to the Starlight Pools and, being the king and of a dynasty that had ruled for thousands of years, Thorin knew exactly where every secret alcove and entrance was in the kingdom. The knowledge had not helped him when he was younger and prone to romping around with lasses and lad because his father, or worse, brother, always seemed to catch him at the most awkward time.

He had stopped taking partners so indiscreetly afterwards and instead, made himself unavailable when his grandfather, father, and brother perished at the Battle of Azanulbizar, the most foolish war campaign a Durin could have possibly thought of. Thorin did not think he could ever forgive his grandfather for leading his people to what he thought was a sure victory but instead, a massacre. It was folly.

"We're here and Thorin," Dwalin stopped Thorin in his tracks with a great paw on his chest. "Are you sure, my king, that you want to carry this foolish plan through?"

Raising his eyes to meet Dwalin's, Thorin stared with determination. "Yes, and please get the hell out of my way, you buggering cow." He hissed and swerved around his best friend, towards the glistening white pools.

"Fuck you," Dwalin booed and Thorin resolutely ignored it, he was more focused on the dying hobbit in his arms to instigate a petty fight with the other dwarrow-fin.

The Starlight Pools were sanctioned in a cavern of diamonds, topaz, and aquamarine. Thorin was sure that he even spotted emerald one time but never had the motivation to go and check. Gems created the ethereal haze that was bestowed upon the cavern, giving it a more spiritual and sacred feel than ever before. Legend had it, that the Starlight Pools were made from Mahal's tears when his plans to free his children were foiled by Eru Ilúvatar so that the Elves could be freed first. Exciting as the tale was, it was dwarven in lore and origin, as were the pools.

Thorin knew what he was doing was highly treasonous as only dwarves were allowed to even lay eyes upon the entrance of the Starlight Pools but if there was only good thing about the Sea King; it was that he was an extremely noble and honorable dwarrow-fin whose stubbornness knew no end.

He would save Bilbo Baggins, Mahal help him, even if it meant secretly changing a few set in stone laws during his downtime because he was king and he can pull that card whenever he damn well pleases.

As he approached one of the pools, Thorin ran a hand over the bubble, saying a simple line of ancient Khuzdul and popping the magical shield around Bilbo's face into water. Readily, he began to lower the still body of the hobbit into the glittering white water when Dwalin laid a hand on his forearm, his expression rapt and wild.

"This won't be as easy as just adding a law and brushing off a defilement to a sacred temple, Thorin. People will raise havoc upon your reign if they find out." Dwalin warned and Thorin felt pure dread to hear the tremor in his voice. "They will not care that you are a hero of a whole race nor one of the finest kings the dwarrow-fin people have seen in a long time, you will be torn apart if they knew you helped revive _a land dweller_ by letting him soak in the energy from our sacred pools." He squeezed Thorin's arm and the king brusquely looked away, keeping his gaze on Bilbo, unwavering. "Are you ready for that?"

"Yes," Thorin replied and let Bilbo go.

_**A/N:**_

**Comments are appreciated and, as always, thank you for following/fav/reading!**


	7. Chapter 7

_**Chapter Seven: Allergic to Burrowing**_

As soon as the king released the unmoving body into the sacred pool, Dwalin held back a strangled cry and immediately turned to face the wall. Thorin shared his friend's sentiment for even if the revival of Master Baggins was his choice only, a heavy weight, unpleasant and tight, settled in his lower abdomen, refusing to go on unrecognized. It was a feeling that Thorin had only come across as a wee lad when he stole a blueberry pie from under the chef's nose or accidently caused something important to break: apprehension.

Shimmering, the waves lapped the edges of the pool as the hobbit sunk further into the water, the image of his body hidden under layers of magic infused water. Thorin hovered over the pools with a concentrated furrow to his brows. Treason this may be, but there was no way in hell this matter would come to light beyond Dwalin and he. As soon as Master Baggins emerged, Thorin would have to sweep him off to the surface for him to have a chance to become human again. It would be a fool's ploy if the king tried to pull the hobbit off as a clean-shaven dwarrow-fin or a child of the mermen so the king would have to make do with the options presented to him because there was no place for Bilbo Baggins in Erebor. Not yet.

"Immediately after he emerges, I am taking him to the channel. He will have to rise to the surface on the second day so that the transformation can be complete however." Thorin said aloud, his hushed voice still ringing off of the jewel encrusted walls. "I presume I have your word that this small conflict will not be spoken of again?"

There was a harsh snort from the Commander of his military. "Presume? Do you also presume that I have been the closest and most loyal of yer friends since you could lift a sword?" Thorin bristled and sought to remind Dwalin of exactly whom he was talking to when his guard snorted once more. "I can feel the peevishness exuding' offa you, yer majesty, and of course you have my word and assurance that none will ever hear of…this."

"Good," Thorin replied and sighed in consternation when the sixteenth bell rang, indicating it was four o'clock in the afternoon. "Mahal, could the magic work any slower?"

Dwalin looked at him with an incredulous look and Thorin beckoned him to the edge, just as he inched closer. The pools had gone from strikingly clear to a foggy white and the king merely looked on with bated breath, waiting to see if his hobbit friend would emerge alive and well or as dead as his pet goldfish, Lucí, that had been bitten in half by his baby sea lion. There was no movement from the pool - not even a ripple that hinted a body was currently being restored to the natural world from the nether and it made Thorin incredibly anxious.

He was responsible, in some convoluted, honor-bound way – possibly something he decided for himself (most likely) – for Master Baggins and his wellbeing and to lose him now, after all of this trouble, would only add to his crime and failure as a friend. It was so very like Thorin to be determined to save something but so very unlike the king at the same time to care deeply about someone he had met only a few months ago. (The dwarrow-fin could not help it though; he reasoned with himself, Bilbo Baggins was a breath of a different type of air, fresh and sweet.) The king chose not to dwell on his almost strange actions at such a dire moment; he had always had bad timing.

Inhaling through his nose lightly, Thorin ran a hand over his face and crossed his arms in the slightest fit of anxiety. He truly and most desperately hoped that none would enter the Starlight Pools that day, for whatever reason. The king knew that the Starlight Pools were not open to the public for they were only available to the royal family and the chosen priests and priestesses, handpicked by Thorin himself, but that did not mean they were completely abandoned. It was quite the opposite. Mind racing, Thorin prowled across the edge of the pool looking for any type of sign, ripples forming, bubbles popping at the surface, anything – none came.

Only until around a half of an hour had past did Bilbo's body float to the surface, his pallor brightened and lips a healthy light pink. Thorin immediately called for Dwalin to swim nearer and curled his tail inwards so he could bend down and scoop the hobbit up with prudence. The golden runes had faded on the earth-dweller's skin but the magic infused had remained. Instead of the hobbit's two strange and thick appendages that connected to his waist – _Legs_, Thorin reminded himself – there was a light sea grass green tail, plump and robust in nature.

Thorin was taken aback at the otherworldly nature of Master Baggins. He had thought the creature to be fair in an odd sort of way but seeing him as one of his own shone a different perspective of the gentle handsomeness of the hobbit. Well, hobbit-fin, Thorin presumed, for if the trio was stopped during their swim to the Brandywine Channel, Master Baggins would simply have to comply with the racial order of the sea.

"By Durin's forefathers, would you look at that," Dwalin breathed out, eyes sweeping over the sparkling white water and, eventually, the hobbit-fin. "The beauty of our people's magic," He said while reaching out to daringly swirl a finger in the clearing water.

"Careful there," Thorin muttered to himself as he hefted up the deceptively heavy hobbit-fin. Master Baggins was still very light, but much heavier than Thorin had presumed. Like his feet, Thorin thought with a hint of bitterness. "Dwalin, clear the passage. We make haste for the channel and if anyone asks," He turned to the Commander of his Guard with a piercing glare and an armful of hobbit. "We were chased by Orcs to the east side of the Roulani Tide."

Eyeing his king carefully, the warrior nodded in complete compliance and turned on his tail to open up the doors. Thorin followed in suit after a few minutes had passed. The Sea King Under the Mountain had to make sure that the waters had calmed to their previous untouched state. It would do no good for the priests to walk in on an active, spellbound pool. Curiosity and rumors would fly and soon, innocents would be blamed and tried for desecrating the pools, leaving Thorin guilt-ridden and responsible for the felony.

Shaking his head, Thorin quickly sped through the open doorways, mumbling a untraceable spell to close them as he passed. Through the three doors the king went and by the third, the monarch had caught up with a quieted Dwalin. He would not question his friend's silence for he knew Dwalin and it was best to leave the warrior to sort out his own emotions so as to not have any problems in the future.

Through the deserted section the pair plus one unconscious hobbit-fin went, powerful tails beating against the heavy, suffocating water of a small city that had not been properly aired in over a decade. Hoping that the magic would stick through at least a good portion of their swim back, Thorin swam harder at the prospect of it wearing off and Bilbo awakening to the surrounding sea and a new addition to his body. With his muscles straining, Thorin felt his lungs expanding in stutters, his gills dry up, as he over exerted himself. It was nothing he could not handle, as was the same with Dwalin, but it was uncomfortable to manage nevertheless.

Swimming past Dale, the Dwarrowdelf Straits, and the Silver Fountains, Thorin narrowly missed being spotted by a wayward outpost guard when the trio reached the wondrous creation of Mahal. The king had quickly set to sneakily swimming behind the cascades of molten silver that flowed out of some sort of geyser but had accidentally turned the wrong way at the last moment. He was saved by Dwalin harshly pushing him to the right, a little too roughly if you asked the king, and Thorin had an inkling that perhaps, his friend was a little more than angry at him.

His closest friend and most skilled warrior, besides himself and Dáin (and Dís), nudged him with his elbow, the red puffed gills on his neck peaking out from under the coarse, hefty beard he donned. Thorin raised his eyebrows in reply and when Dwalin motioned for the two to come to a stop, he played along.

"What is the meaning of this?" Thorin asked, impatience leaking into his tone for surely the dwarrow-fin knew that larger matters than he were at hand.

Dwalin grumbled something gruffly under his breath and Thorin had a sneaking suspicion that he was cursing the king in every which way when the warrior pointedly looked at the load being carried in his king's arms. Thorin's eyes followed the trail and widened in shock at the petrified, _awake_ stare of Master Bilbo Baggins.

Cursing the luck he never believed in, Thorin gently set the hobbit-fin on the sand, glancing back at the still very noticeable point of his mountain as a precaution. Bilbo seemed to be in a state of utter disarray. His eyes kept on flitting down to the tail attached to his waist in disbelief and shakily, the new sea hobbit lifted a hand only to gently feel soft fins instead of smooth skin.

With little to no sympathy, Thorin gave a weary sigh and scooped Bilbo up, ignoring the terrified squawk that the hobbit gave and purposefully keeping his focus on getting to the channel before the night took over. In his arms, Bilbo seemed to tremble in what was confusion and no small amount of shock. It was not until the trio passed the Green Lady's Trench, a landmark that indicated they were entering Yavanna's Lands, that a small voice piped up, disturbing the silence that had been founded between the three males.

"By my word, Master Oakenshield. Have… Have you stolen my legs?" Bilbo questioned, trying to lighten the problem at hand but only making the atmosphere tense and heavy.

Thorin heard the hobbit-fin gulp, a dry and terrified thing, and took pity on the poor soul. "It was necessary to morph, not steal, your legs in order for you to live again, Master Hobbit." The dwarrow-fin loosened his grip on the being in his arms as the occupant wriggled uncomfortably. "Rest assured, the magic-"

"_Magic_?"

"Will wear off in due time. Once two sunsets have passed you shall be able to return to your hobbit state." Thorin continued, his sour expression revealing his annoyance at being interrupted. It was bad enough when Fíli and Kíli did it, if they dared.

"_Two sunsets?"_

Holding back a sigh, Thorin resumed talking, steadfastly ignoring the urge to silence the panicking hobbit-fin in his arms with a smack upside the head, as he did so often with his nephews and, of course (if not a little rougher), Dwalin. "I wish to offer my apologies, for how close you came near death. If it were not for your association with me, those barbaric Sea Orcs would have never traveled so far from their stronghold. I hope you can find it in your-"

"Come now," Bilbo exclaimed, unreserved frustration practically pouring out of him. "What is the meaning of this, Master Oakenshield? I awaken one morning and walk down to the channel for a good bout of conversion with my friend and a side of fishing only to find death waiting for me by the hands of, of, whateve_r_ 'Sea Orcs' are and then I awaken again after I thought I had died to find myself with a blasted _tail and fins_! A poor replacement for my long lost legs if I have to say anything about it!"

"Did you not hear anything I just said, Halfling?" Thorin gritted out, nerves shot and patience wearing thin as exhaustion crept into his bones like an unwanted cold. "I shall have you know that I have just committed a crime against the kingdom for the sole purpose of bringing the life so unjustly taken from you back. Now, I understand you are in a state of distress and disbelief but I would advise you to calm your nerves as much as you can for there is nothing you can do about your predicament except to wait."

A fire burned in the halfling's eyes and Thorin felt a shot of heat run through him. He could see the anger ripple throughout Bilbo's body in how his tail curled in and out and how the hobbit's fingers flexed whilst his lips stayed in a tight line. The king ignored how attractive the land-walker looked in his fury and instead kept his bearing.

"I have a tail." Bilbo stated bluntly and his mirthless eyes roamed the foreign appendage in mild disgust and horror. "I-I am a fish."

Thorin dropped Bilbo at that, red flooding his vision. "Do you offer me offense, Halfling?" He snarled quietly and felt Dwalin shift steadily from the side. It seemed he was not the only one who was angered by the hobbit's words.

Arms flopping in the water and tail lashing out wildly, Bilbo tried to regain his balance - which was much harder than he had ever presumed it to be. "Absolutely not, Master Oakenshield!" Bilbo quickly amended, eyes widened under the presumption that he met to cause offense. "I merely meant that, well, this is all very, very – um – so very strange." He stuttered, each of his arms out on either side of him in an attempt to stable himself against the rough current.

From his left, Dwalin snorted and Thorin agreed and grunted in response to Bilbo's hurried reply. "Plus," The gentlehobbit-fin continued, his voice edging on shy. "It's very unfair that you have a prettier tail than I." He smiled at Thorin and then nodded to Dwalin as well.

Dwalin guffawed quietly, his red tail rocking back and forth with the waves. "Aye, he'd make a fair diplomat; this lad would have all of your rusty council under his spell in a snap of his wee fingers."

Bilbo flushed but at the same time managed to look peevish. What for, Thorin knew not but he did send a violent glare towards his best mate at the mention of a council. Leave it to Dwalin to mess up the game Bilbo and he had going on. Bald spoilsport.

"My fingers are _not_ small, Master Dwarrow-fin, they are perfectly sized and what was that about a council?" He hummed in attentiveness and sent Thorin a sly smirk.

Thorin frowned at the cheerfulness that the hobbit was presenting so suddenly after discovering that he had just evaded death by being magically transformed into a creature of the sea. The king had assumed that after this stunt, Bilbo would never want to see him again. He would have never thought that Bilbo would be sending him playful smiles so soon.

Bilbo saw this frown and returned it in kind, the scared tremble of his hands and fearful widening of his eyes told Thorin all the king needed to know. Such a look was highly reminiscent of when a human spear had pierced Fíli's dolphin, Loel, and the then young dwarrow-fin came up to Thorin with such eyes only to lead his uncle to a dead animal. The hobbit, his _friend_, was scared and Thorin would not stand for it.

Wordlessly, he gripped Bilbo's shoulder and nudged him west in the direction of the Brandywine. The newfound hobbit-fin stiffened under the contact even though he still had his shirt covering his torso (the pants had to be ripped off; something Thorin did with all of the haste in the world) and Thorin retracted his hand with swift speed.

Bilbo sent him a silent gaze of thanks before nodding his head once. A mute, noiseless air came over the trio as Thorin and Dwalin took turns carrying Bilbo – as the hobbit simply was not strong enough to keep up with their pace, nor did he know that proper way to swim – and as Bilbo quietly kept sucking in large gulps of water, expecting to suffocate and drown. The Sea King observed with worry how Bilbo kept his eyes forward and hands to the side, not wanting to touch his gills or tail.

It would make him feel utterly insulted if he didn't know that Bilbo actually found such parts quite fascinating when they were not attached to him. Thorin understood it to be denial, the stage that the hobbit was going through, or maybe it was something else, maybe it was just fear and that was nothing to be ashamed of.

"We are almost there, Master Baggins." Thorin noted with some ease as the trio passed the cluster of red and yellow seaweed, a very unusual color found only near Bilbo's lands. "And then Dwalin and I will scout out the area in order to find you a decent resting cove."

"I am to sleep underwater?" Bilbo asked without pause and Thorin gave him an odd look. It was then that the hobbit, embarrassed by his lack of thought, tucked his chin into his chest. "Of course I am to be submerged," He muttered to himself and Thorin could not help but feel endeared and miserable at the same time. "Silly Baggins,"

It was completely dark, possibly around 21:00 hours or more, and Thorin knew that he would never hear the end of it from his family and council – more specifically Dís who was going to skewer him alive. Thorin sent a pointed look at his commander and then at the sky. Dwalin returned the baleful gaze with his own, a despondent sigh, and a shrug of his shoulders.

Dwarrow-fins had excellent vision in the night due to their habitat, underwater mountains and, on the occasion, caverns, so when bulbs of orange and red lights were caught by Thorin and Dwalin's eyes from the surface of the Brandywine, the dwarrow-fins immediately shrunk back near a safe rock, away from the lights and attention. The voices from the surface were warbled and unclear but one thing was for certain. Thorin knew this to be a search party for Bilbo – that was the only explanation for more than once had Bilbo disregarded his concern and left during the night instead of dusk. No living soul except the king and the fisherman was ever out this late.

A forlorn whisper of a sigh left Bilbo's lips. It seems that the hobbit was still sharp even though he had gone through a rigorous process of transmutation and revitalization in the pools. Bilbo seemed to know the landlubbers up on the surface and without a thought, Thorin wound his arms tighter around his hobbit-fin load and in retaliation, Bilbo pushed against him.

"Please, not right now, Master Oakenshield." Thorin nodded and tried to ignore the heavy pit in his stomach only grow in weight and discomfort at the rejection.

Setting Bilbo down behind the particularly cozy rock, which sheltered his harp and a few seashells he had meant to show the hobbit, Thorin quickly burrowed a small pit for the hobbit-fin in the farthest corner to guarantee extra safety. When he was done making the pleasantly snug indentation in the sand, the Sea King dusted the grit out of his hair and made way for the hobbit-fin.

With a disbelieving look directed at Thorin that was more appropriate for a mad person, Bilbo bit his lip and held back another sigh. Hesitantly, the hobbit-fin used his arms and a push of his tail to propel himself up from his sitting position. With wobbling jerks of the massive, green muscle, Bilbo made his way to his 'bed' and sunk slowly down to sit in the middle of it.

"What do I do?" Bilbo questioned with a tiny voice.

Dwalin stepped forward before Thorin could answer and leveled Bilbo with a stern scowl. "I hope you realize that this is no one's fault but those Sea Orcs, Hobbit." He growled and Thorin moved to probably punch his blasted twat of a friend for his lack of empathy when Dwalin swam a bit closer to Bilbo. "If Thorin had his way, not a single hair on that tiny little head of yours would be harmed."

"Dwalin," Thorin snarled and avoided Bilbo's quelling gaze like the plague itself. "Mind your tongue!"

Rolling his eyes, Dwalin continued on without missing a beat. "And all you have to do is curl up, as is yer instinct." At that he resumed glaring at the hobbit-fin expectantly until Bilbo shuffled his tail to curl up on his side and circled around the pit until he was comfortable. "There's a good lad." Dwalin said, pleased.

"Two sunsets," Bilbo stated rather than asked. "But I cannot swim. How am I supposed to reach the surface by the second sunset?"

Pushing himself in front of his meddling companion, Thorin moved to perch himself next to Bilbo's burrowing spot. When he approached the area, Bilbo shrunk backwards but not out of fear for Thorin, but of fear for the quandary he was in. "One sunset has already passed, Master Baggins, so it is really only one more day until you regain your body, not two. I will try my hardest to return back to the channel to help you reach the surface but if I cannot make it in time, I ask you to be aware of your surroundings and as close to the surface as you can be without gathering attention." Thorin directed in a strict voice. "It is imperative that you heed my directions, they are given out of a concern for your welfare."

"I have no doubt that they are," replied Bilbo with a small crooked smile. It was a dear little thing and Thorin cursed the day he decided to mess with a child of Yavanna without thinking of the long-term effects on his health. "It seems that I have been most ungrateful for the help and support that you have given me, Master Oakenshield. If you would allow me, I would apologize for my improper behavior today. I did not mean to insult or-"

"No," Interrupted Thorin with only a little smugness at getting back at the hobbit for earlier. Bilbo shot him a dirty glower and Thorin held up a hand to placate his wound up nerves. "There is no need for any such thing, Master Baggins. None at all."

"Bilbo," murmured the hobbit after he had found nothing but stone cold resolve in the dwarrow-fin's eyes and all but gave up on trying to offer his apologies. "My name is Bilbo and it would do you well to stop calling me a master when I most certainly am not one."

Dwalin shook his head at Bilbo. "He's a stickler fer propriety, little hobbit-fin. Nice try though." And Bilbo frowned; looking at Thorin with a pout that should have been banned since the day that blasted hobbit came into this world.

Heaving a great sign, Thorin scratched his beard awkwardly before swimming up to right himself and bowing his head at his hobbit-fin friend. "Bilbo," He offered and watched a bright smile grow like a blooming flower on the halfling's face for the first time since he had woken up.

Behind him, Dwalin muttered something along the lines of _'far gone'_ and '_love-struck fool'_ but really – well, for now – Thorin was just happy to have his friend alive in a hole in the sand and in the process of coping with his new status as a sea creature, not dead and bloated at the bottom of a channel.

Scanning the surrounding area, Thorin puttered around Bilbo's alcove and drew a few well-hidden runes to shield the hobbit-fin from any other unwanted intruders. The spells were concealment and shielding spells that were strong enough to withstand the Sea Orcs and practically unnoticeable to any other magic user other than the wizards or advanced sorcerers like the Sea King.

"No one will find you now," Thorin informed firmly. "Rest up, Bilbo."

"That sounds like a wonderful idea." Mumbled the hobbit before he curled up into a ball of skin, cloth, and rippling green scales.

Thorin drew the last rune, completing his protective spells, and turned to Dwalin with tightly wound shoulders and a grim set to his mouth. "Alright, my friend. Time to head home." He said and Dwalin groaned.

"I'll follow you to our certain deaths, my liege," Dwalin huffed as Thorin began the trek back. "For Mahal knows what's going to happen from here on out."

With a gloomy laugh devoid of light, Thorin shook his head. "Nothing good, that is for sure. Remember, we still have to get through Dís."

Dwalin gave what sounded like a feeble wail and Thorin could not help but feel the same.

_**A/N:**_

**Happy Holidays everyone and thank you for sticking with me even though i am one lame ass duck. I know this chapter was boring, it took me forever blegh, but the next chapter includes gandalf so you know its going to be good lol. all that man does is meddle and talk sassily i swear. **

**Reviews are appreciated! Thank you for your follows and favorites.**


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